
GlassT-1-4 



r? q 



By beq/iest of ^ 



William lukens Shoemaker 



THE •^IL-U 

QUEEN'S WAKE: 



LEGENDARY POEM, 



JAMES HOGG, 
u 



Be mine to i-ead the visions old, 
Wbich thy awakening Bawls have told ; 
And whilst they meet my tranced view, 
Hold eaeli strange tale devoutly true. 

C0LL1.\5 



BALTIMORE : 
frSLISHED By COALE. AND MAXWELL, 

1815. 






,Q1 



^z^'. 



Oitt. 

W. L. Shoeimker 
I S '06 



WELLS & LILLY, 
Priiiteis, Boston. 



TO 
HER ROYAL HIGHNESS 

PRINCESS CHARLOTTE OF WALES, 
A SHli^PHERD, 

AMONG THK MOimTAINS •? SCOTLANB, 
DEDJCAVBS TQIg PO£M. 



CONTENTS. 



Page. 
VERSES TO THE AUTHOR . . . . i 

INTRODUCTION 1 

NIGHT THE FIRST 19 

Malcolm of Lorn 20 

Young Kennedy 30 

The Witch of Fife 45 

NIGHT THE SECOND 63 

Glen-Avin 66 

Old David 74 

The Spectre's Cradle Song ... 91 

M'Gregor 93 

Earl Walter 99 

Kilmeny 112 

NIGHT THE THIRD 129 

Mary Scott 133 

King Ed7vard''s Dream .... 162 

Dumlunrig 170 

The Abbot M'Kinnon .... 190 

The Monks' Hymn 196 

The Mermaid's Song 199 

CONCLUSION 205 

NOTES , . 223 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



The Publisher having been favoured 
with letters from gentlemen in various 
parts of the United Kingdom respecting 
the Author of the CIdeen's Wake, and 
most of them expressing doubts of his 
being a Scotch Shepherd, he takes this 
opportunity of assuring the Pubiick, that 
The Queen's Wake is really and truly 
the production of James Hogg, a common 
Shepherd, bred among the mountains of 
Ettrick Forest, who went to service when 
only seven years of age ; and since that 
period has never received any education 
whatever. Upon the consistency of this 
statement, with the merits of t!ie follow- 
ing Work, it does not become him to 
make any observation ; all he wishes to 
say is, that it is strictly true, which he 



n ADVERTISEMENT. 

states upon the best of all possible autho- 
rity — his own knowledge. 

Upon answering one of the letters 
above alluded to, he received another, 
with the following Verses enclosed, which 
he takes the liberty to insert, judging 
that their intrinsick merit, as well as the 
allusions to the different ballads which 
they contain, render them a suitable ac- 
companiment to the present edition of 
the Work. 



STANZAS 



ADDRESSED TO 



THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD, 

ON THE PUBLICATION OF 

THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 

By B. BARTON, Esq. Woodbridge, Suffolk, 

bnEPHERD of Ettrick ! as of yore 
To humble swains the Seraph sung, 

Again, though now unseen, they pour 
Their hallow'd strains from mortal tongue. 

For O ! celestial are the tones 

The minstrel strikes to Malcolm's sorrow } 
When Jura, echoing back his moaas. 

Claims the lost maiden of Glen-ora. 

Soft dies the strain ; the chords now ring, 

Swept by a more impetuous hand ; 
Indignant Gardyn strikes the string. 

And terrour chills the listening band. 
2 



Now from the cliffs of old Cairn-gorm, 
Dark gathering clouds the tempest bring • 

He comes, the Spirit of the storm ! 
And at the rustling of his wing, 

The harp's wild notes, now high, now low. 

In varying cadence swell or fall, 
Like wintry winds in wild Glencoe, 

Or ruinM Bothwell's roofless hall. 

A wilder strain is wafted near 
As from the regions of the sky ; 

And Where's the mortal that can hear 
Unmoved the Spectre's lullaby ? 

To weave the due reward of praise 
For every rival bard were vain j 

Nor suits an humble poet's lays, 
Who loves, yet fears a loftier strain. 

Yet must I pause upon the tale 

Of that strange bark for Staffa bound ; 

Proudly she greets the morning gale. 
Proudly she sails from holy ground. 

O, never yet has ship that traced 
The pathless bosom of the m^in, 

Been witli ?uch raagick numbers graced, 
Or honour'd with so sweet a strain. 

But who, that sees the morning rise 
Serenely bright, caD tell the horn 



Wlien the rough tempest of tlie skies 
Shall next display its awful power P 

And who, that sees the floating bark 

Sail forth obedient to the gale, 
Foresees the impending horrours dark, 

That swell the terrour of the tale ? 

Nor can I pass in silence by 

That favour'd maiden's wondrous dooiH, 
Who, 'neath a self- illumined sky, 

Saw fields and flowers in endless bloom. 

O heaven-taught Shepherd ! when or where 
Was that ethereal legend wrought ? 

What urged thee thus a flight to dare 
Through realms by former bards unsought P 

Say, hast thou, like Kilmeny, been 
Transported to the land of thought ; 

And thence, by minstrel vision keen, 
The fire of inspiration caught ? 

It must be so : in cottage lone, 

To dreams of poesy resign'd, 
From Ettrick's banks thy soul has flown, 

And earth-born follies left behind. 

Then througli those scenes Kilmeny saw, 
In trance ecstatick hast thou roved, 

And witness'd, but with holy awe, 
What mortal fancy never proved. 



Shepherd ! since His thine to boast 
The fascinating powers of song, 

Far, far above the countless host, 
Who swell the Muses' suppliant throng, 

The Gift of God distrust no more, 

His inspiration be thy guide j 
Be heard thy harp from shore to shore. 

Thy song's reward thy country's pride. 

WooDBRiCGB, April 21, 1813, 



INTRODUCTION. 



iM ow burst, ye Winter clouds that lower, 

Fling from your folds the piercing shower ; 

Sing to the tower and leafless tree, 

Ye cold winds of adversity ; 

Your blights, your chilling influence shed, 

Od wareless heart, and houseless head, 

Your ruth or fury I disdain, 

I've found my Mountain Lyre again. 

Come to my heart, my only stay ! 
Companion of a happier day ! 
Thou gift of heaven, thou pledge of good, 
Harp of the mountain and the wood ! 
I little thought, when first I tried 
Thy notes by lone Saint Mary's side, 
When in a deep untrodden den, 
I found thee in the braken glen, 
I little thought that idle toy 
Showld e'er become my only joy ! 



2 THE QUEEN'S WAKK. 

A maiden's youthful smiles had wove 
Around ray heart the toils of love, 
Wfien first thy magick wires I rung, 
And on the breeze thy numbers flung. 
The fervid tear played in mine eye ; 
I trembled, wept, and wondered why. 
Sweet was the thrilling ecstasy ; 
I know not if 'twas love or thee. 

Weened not my heart, when youth had flown 
Friendship would fade, or fortune frown ; 
When pleasure, love, and mirth were past, 
That thou shouldst prove my all at last ! 
Jeered by conceit and lordly pride, 
I flung my soothing harp aside ; 
With wayward fortune strove awhile ; 
Wrecked in a world of self and guile. 
Again I sought thebraken hill ; 
Agiin sat musing by the rill ; 
My wild sensations all were gone, 
And only thou wert left alone. 
Long hast thou in the moorland lain, 
Now welcome to my heart again. 

The russet weed of mountain gray 
No more shall round thy border play ; 
No more the brake- flowers, o'er thee piled, 
Shall mar thy tones and measures wild. 
Harp of the Forest, thou shalt be 
Pair as the bud on forest tree ! 
Sweet be thy strains, as those that swell 
I« Ettrick'g green and fairy dell j 



INTRODUCTION. 

Soft as the breeze of falling even, 
And purer than the dews of heaven. 

Of minstrel honours, now no more ; 
Of bards, who sung in days of yore ; 
Of gallant chiefs, in courtly guise ; 
Of ladies' smiles, of ladies' eyes j 
Of royal feasts and obsequies ; 
When Caledon, with look severe, 
Saw Beauty's hand her sceptre bear, — 
By clifFand haunted Avild I'll sing, 
Responsive to thy dulcet string. 

When wanes the circling year away, 
When scarcely smiles the doubtful day, 
Fair daughter of Dunedin, say. 
Hast thou not heard, at midnight deep, 
Soft musick on thy slumbers creep p 
At such a time, if careless thrown 
Thy slender form on couch of down, 
Hast thou not felt, to nature true. 
The tear steal from thine eye so blue ? 
If then thy guiltless bosom strove 
In blissful dreams of conscious love, 
And even shrunk f:'om proffer bland 
Of lover's visionary hand, 
On such ecstatick dream when brake 
The iBUsick of the midnight wake, 
Hast thou not weened thyself on high, 
List'ning to angels' melody, 
'Scaped from a world of cares away, . 
To dream of love and bliss for aye .'^ 



4 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 

The dream dispelled, the musick gone, 
Hast thou not, sighing, all alone, 
Proffered thy vows to heaven, and then 
Blest the sweet wake, and slept again ? 

Then list, ye maidens, to my lay, 
Though old the tale, and past the day ; 
Those wakes, now played by minstrels poor, 
At midnight's darkest, chillest hour, 
Those humble wakes, now scorned by all^ 
Were first begun in courtly iiall, 
When royal Mary, blithe of mood. 
Kept holiday at Holyrood. 

Scotland, involved in factious broils, 
Groaned deep beneath her woes and tolls, 
And looked o'er meadow, dale, and lea, 
For many a day her Q,ueen to see ; 
Hoping that then her woes would cease, 
And all her vallies smile in peace. 
The spring was past, the summer gone ; 
Still vacant stood the Scottish throne : 
But scarce had autumn's mellow hand 
Waved her rich banner o'er the land, 
When rang the shouts, from tower and tree, 
That Scotland's Queen was on the sea. 
Bwift spread the news o'er down and dale, 
Swift as the lively autumn gale ; 
Away, away, it echoed still, 
O'er many a moor and Highland hill, 
Till rang each glen and verdant plaia, 
From Chefiot to the ■orthem mainv 



INTRODUCTlOTf, 

Each bard attuned the loyal lay, 
And for Dunedin hied away ; 
Each harp was strung in woodland bower, 
In praise of beauty's bonniest flower. 
The chiefs forsook their ladies fair ; 
The priest his beads and books of prayer j 
The farmer left his harvest day. 
The shepherd all his flocks to stray ; 
The forester forsook the wood, 
And hasted on to Holyrood. 

After a youth, by woes o'ercast, 
After a thousand sorrows past, 
The lovely Mary once again 
Set foot upon her native plain ; 
Kneeled on the pier with modest grace, 
And turned to heaven her beauteous face. 
'Twas then the caps in air were blended, 
A thousand thousand shouts ascended ; 
Shivered the breeze around the throng; 
Gray barrier cliffs the peals prolong ; 
And every tongue gave thanks to heave% 
That Mary to their hopes was given. 

Her comely form and graceful mien, 
Bespoke the Lady and the Queen ; 
The woes of one so fair and young, 
Moved every heart and every tongue. 
Driven from her home, a helpless child, 
To brave the winds and billows wild j 
An exile bred in realms afar, 
Amid commotions, broils, and war. 



6 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 

In one short year her hopes all crossed,'-^ 

A parent, husband, kingdom lost ! 

Afid all ere eighteen years had shed 

Their honours o'er her royal head. 

For such a Queen, the Stuart's heir, 

A Queen so courteous, young, and fair, 

Who would not every foe defy ! 

Who would not stand ! who would not die ! 

Light on her airy steed she sprung, 

Around with golden tassels hung. 

No chieflain there rode half so free, 

Or half so light and gracefully. 

How sweet to see her ringlets pale 

Wide waving in the southland gale, 

Which through the broom-wood blossoms flew. 

To fan her cheeks of rosy hue ! 

Whene'er it heaved her bosom's screen, 

What beauties in her form were seen .' 

And when her courser's main it swung, 

A thousand silver bells were rung. 

A sight so fair, on Scottish plain, 

A Scot shall never see again. 

When Mary turned her wondering eyes 
On rocks that seemed to prop the skies j 
On palace, park, and battled pile; 
On lake, on river, sea, and isle; 
O'er woods and meadows bathed in dew, 
To distant mountains wild and blue ; 
She thought the isle that gave her birth, 
The sweetest, wildest land on earth. 



INTRODUCTION. 

Slowly she ambled on her way 
Amid her lords and ladies gay. 
Priest, abbot, laynnn, all were there, 
And Presb.vter with look severe. 
There rode the lords of Prance and Spain^ 
Of England, Flanders, and Lorraine, 
While serried thousands round them stood, 
From shore of Leith to Holyrood. 

Though Mary's heart was light as aic 
To find a home so wild and fair ; 
To see a gatliered nation by, 
And rays of joy from every eye ; 
Tliough frequent shouts the welkin broke, 
Though courtiers bowed and ladies spokq, 
An absent look they oft could trace 
Deep settled on her comely face. 
Was it the thouglit, that all alone 
She must support a rocking throne ? 
That Caledonia's rugged land 
Might scorn a Lady's weak command. 
And the Red Lion's hauglity eye 
Scowl at a maiden's feet to lie p 

No ; 'twas the notes of Scottish song, 
Soft pealing from the countless throng. 
So mellowed came tiie distant swell. 
That on her ravished ear it fell 
Like dew of heaven, at evening close. 
On forest flower or woodland rose. 
For Mary's heart, to nature true. 
The powers of song aud uiusick knew ; 



8 THE QUEEIV'S WAKE. 

But all the choral measures bland, 
Of anthems rung in southern laud, 
Appeared an useless pile of art, 
Unfit to sway or melt the heart, 
Compared with that which floated by, — 
Her simple native melody. 

As she drew nigh the Abbey stile, 
She halted, reined, and bent the while : 
She heard the Caledonian lyre 
Pour forth its notes of runick fire : 
But scarcely caught the ravished Queen, 
The minstrel's song that flowed between ; 
Entranced upon the strain she hung, 
'Twas thus the gray-heiired minstrel sung.- 



THE SONG. 

*' O ! Lady dear, fair is thy noon, 
But man is like the inconstant moon ; 
Last night she smiled o'er lawn and lea ; 
That moon will change, and so will he. 

" Thy time, dear Lady, 's a passing showery 
Thy beauty is but a fading floAver : 
Watch thy young bosom, and maiden eye, 
For the shower must fall, and the flowret die."-- 



What ails my Queen ? said good Argyle, 
Why fades upon her cheek the smile ? 
Say, rears your steed to© fierce and high •*■ 
Or sits your goldea seat awry ?— 



IxNTRODUCTION. 

Ah ! no, my Lord ! this noble steed, 
Of Rouen's calm and generous breed. 
Has borne me over hill and plain, 
Swift as the dun-deer of the Seine. 
But such a wild and simple lay, 
Poured from the harp of minstrel gray, 
My every sense away it stole, 
And swayed awhile my raptured soul. 
O ! say, my Lord, (for you must know 
What strains along your vallies flow, 
And all the hoards of Highland lore,) 
Was ever song so sweet before P — 

Replied the Earl, as round he flung, — 
Feeble the strain that minstrel sung ! 
My royal Dame, if once you heard 
The Scottish lay from Highland bard, 
Then might you say, in raptures meet, 
No song was ever half so sweet ! 

It nerves the arm of warriour wight 
To deeds of more than mortal might j 
'Twill make the maid, in all her charms, 
Fall weeping in her lover's arms. 
'Twill charm the mermaid from the deep ; 
Make mountain oaks to bend and weep j 
Thrill every heart with horrours dire. 
And shape the breeze to forms of fire. 

When poured from greenwood-bower at even, 
'Twill draw the spirits down from heaven j 
And all the fays that haunt the wood, 
To dance arouud in frantick mood, 



10 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 

And tune their mimick harps so boon 
Beneath tke clifFand midnight moon. 
Ah ! yes, my Queen ! if once you heard 
The Scottish lay from Highland bard, 
Then might you say, in raptures meet, 
No song was ever half so sweet. — 



Queen Marj'^ lighted in the court ; j. 

Qupen Mary joined the evening's sport j ■ 

Yet though at table all were seen . 

To wonder at her air and mien ; ; 

Though courtiers fawned and ladies sung, j 

Still in her ear the accents rung, — j 

" Watch thy young bosom and maiden eye, - 
" For the shower must fall and thejiowret rfif."1 

And much she wished to prove ere long, \ 
The wonderous powers of Scottish song. 

{ 

When next to ride the Queen was bound, \ 

To view the lands and city round, ; 
On high amid the gathered crowd, 

A herald thus proclaim'd aloud : — ' 

" Peace, peace to Scotland's wasted valee. 

To her dark heaths and Highland dales ; ] 

To her brave sons of warlike mood, 1 

To all her daughters fair and good j j 

Peace o'er her ruined vales shall pour, '\ 

Like beam of heaven beliind the showei'. \ 
Let every harp and echo ring ; 

Let maidens smile and poets sing ; , ' 

For love and peace entwined shall sleep, .j 

Oaba as the mooa-beam oa the deep ; j 



INTRODUCTION. H 

By waving wood and wandering rill, 
On purple heath and Highland hill. 

" The soul of warriour stern to charna, 
And bigotry and rage disarm, 
Our Queen commands, that every bard 
Due honours have, and high regard. 
If, to his song of rolling fire, 
He join the Caledonian lyre, 
And skill in legendary lore, 
Still higher shall his honours soar. 
For all the arts beneath the heaven. 
That man has found, or God has given, 
None draws the soul so sweet away, 
As raus'ick's melting mystick lay j 
Slight emblem of the bliss above, 
It sooths the spirit all to love. 

*'To cherish this attractive art, 
To lull the passions, mend the heart, 
And break the moping jjealot's chains, 
Hear what our lovely Queen ordains. 

" Each Caledonian bard must seek 
Her courtly halls on Easter week, 
That then the royal wake may be 
Cheered by their thrilling minstrelsy. 
JJo ribaldry the Queen must hear, 
PJo song unmeet for maiden's ear. 
No jest, nor adulation bir.nd, 
But legends of our native land ; 
And he whom most the court regards. 
High b6 his hooours and rewards. 



12 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 

Let every Scottish bard give ear, 

Let every Scottish bard appear ; 

He then before the court must stand, 

In native garb, with harp in hand. 

At home no minstrel dare to tarry : 

High tlie behest.— God save Queen Mary !" 

Little recked they, that countless throng 
Of musick's power or minstrel's song ; 
But crowding their young Queen around, 
AVhose stately courser pawed the ground, 
Her beauty more their wonder swayed, 
Than all the noisy herald said ; 
Judging the proffer all in sport. 
An idle whim of idle court. 
But many a bard preferred his prayer ; 
For many a Scottish bard was there. 
Quaked each fond heart with raptures strong, 
Each thought upon his harp and song ; 
And turning home without delay. 
Coned his wild strain by mountain gray. 

Each glen was sought for tales of old. 
Of luckless love, of warriour bold. 
Of ravished maid, or stolen child 
By freakish fairy of the wild ; 
Of sheeted ghost, that had revealed 
Dark deeds of guilt from man concealed ; 
Of boding dreams, of wandering spright, 
Of dead-lights glimmering through the ■igbt* 
Yea, every tale of ruth or weir, 
Could waken pity, love, or fear, 



INTRODUCTION. 

Were decked anew, with anxious pain, 
And sung to native airs again. 

Alas ! those lays of fire once more 

Are wrecked 'mid heaps of mouldering lore ! 

And feeble he who dares presume 

That heavenly wake-light to relume. 

But, grieved the legendary lay 

Should perish from our land for aye, 

While sings the lark above the wold, 

And all his flocks rest in the fold, 

Fondly he strikes, beside the pen, 

The harp of Yarrow's braken glen. 

December came ; his aspect stern 
Glared deadly o'er the mountain cairn ; 
A polar sheet was round him flung, 
And ice-spears at his girdle hung ; 
O'er frigid field, and drifted cone, 
He strode undaunted and alone ; 
Or, throned amid the Grampians gray, 
Kept thaws and suns of heaven at bay. 

Not stern December's fierce control 
Could quench the flame of rainstrel's soul : 
Little recked they, our bards of old, 
Of Autumn's showers, or Winter's cold. 
Sound slept they on the nighted hill, 
Lulled by the winds or babbling rill : 
Curtained within the Winter cloud; 
The heath their couch, the sky their shroud. 
Yet their's the strains that touch the heart, 
Bold, rapid, wild, and void of art. 
3 



14 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 

Unlike the bards, whose milky lays 
Delight in these degenerate days : 
Their crystal spring, and heather brown, 
Is changed to wine and couch of down j 
Effeminate as lady gay, — 
Such as the bard, so is his lay ! 

But then was seen, from every vale, 
Through drifting snows and rattling hail, 
Each Caledonian minstrel true, 
Dressed in his plaid and bonnet blue. 
With harp across his shoulders slung. 
And musick murmuring round his tongue, 
Forcing his way, in raptures high, 
To Holy rood his skill to try. 

Ah ! when at home the songs they raised, 
When gaping rusticks stood and gazed. 
Each bard believed, with ready will, 
Unmatched his song, unmatched his skill ! 
But when the royal halls appeared. 
Each aspect changed, each bosom feared j 
And when in court of Holy rood 
Filed harps and bards around him stood. 
His eye emitted cheerless ray. 
His hope, his spirit sunk away : 
There stood the minstrel, but his mind 
Seemed left in native glen behind. 

Unknown to men of sordid heart, 
What joys the poet's hopes impart j 
Unknown, how his high soul is torn 
By co!d neglect, or canting scorn : 



INTRODUCTION. 

That meteor torch of mental light, 
A breatb can quench, or kindle bright. 
Oft has that mind, which braved serene 
The shafts of poverty and pain, 
The Summer toil, the Winter blast, 
Fallen victim to a frown at last. 
Easy the boon he asks of thee j 
O ! spare his heart in courtesy ! 

There rolled each bard his anxious eye, 
Or strode his adversary by. 
No cause was there for names to scan, 
Each minstrel's plaid bespoke his clan ; 
And the blunt borderer's plain array, 
The bonnet broad and blanket gray. 
Bard sought of bard a look to steal ; 
Eyes measured each from head to heel. 
Much wonder rose, that men so famed, 
Men save with rapture never named, 
Looked only so, — they could not tell, — 
Like other men, and scarce so well. 
Though keen the blast, and long the way, 
When twilight closed that dubious day, 
When round the table all were set, 
Small heart had they to talk or eat j 
Red look askance, blunt whisper low. 
Awkward remark, uncourtly bow. 
Were all that past in that bright throng, 
That groupe of genuine sons of song. 

One did the honours of the board, 
Who seemed a courtier or a lord. 



16 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 

Strange his array and speech withal, 

Gael deemed him southern — southern, Gael. 

Courteous his mien, his accents weak. 

Lady in manner as in make j 

Yet round the board a whisper ran, 

That that same gay and simpering man 

A minstrel was of wonderous fame, 

Who from a distant region came. 

To bear the prize beyond the sea 

To the green shores of Italy. 

The wine was served, and, sooth to say, 
Insensibly it stole away. 
Thrice did they drain th' allotted store, 
And wondering skinkers dun for more ; 
Which vanished swifter than the first, — 
Little weened they the poets' thirst. 

Still as that ruddy juice they drained, 
The eyes were cleared, the speech regained; 
And latent sparks of fancy glowed, 
Till one abundant torrent flowed 
Of wit, of humour, social glee, 
Wild musick, mirth, and revelry. 

Just when a jest had thrilled the crowd, 
Just when the laugh was long and loud, 
Entered a squire with summons smart j — 
That was the knell that pierced the heart : — 
" The court awaits j" — he bowed — was gone,- 
Our bards sat changed to busts of stone. 
As e'er ye heard the green-wood dell, 
^n morn of June one warbled swell, 



INTRODUCTION. 17 

If burst the thunder from on high, 
How hushed the woodland melody ! 
Even so our bards sunk at the view 
Of what they wished, and what they knew. 

Their numbers given, the lots were cast, 
To fix the names of first and last ; 
Then to the dazzling hall were led, 
Poor minstrels less alive than dead. 

There such a scene entranced the view, 
As heart of poet never knew. 
'Twas not the flash of golden gear. 
Nor blaze of silver chandelier ; 
Not Scotland's chiefs of noble air, 
Nor dazzling rows of ladies fair; 
'Twas one enthroned the rest above, — 
Sure 'twas the Queen of grace and love ! 
Taper the form, and fair the breast 
Yon radiant golden zones invest, 
; Where the vexed rubies blench in death, 
Beneath yon lips and balmy breath. 
Coronal gems of every dye. 
Look dim above yon beaming eye ; 
Yon cheeks outvie the dawning's glow, 
Red shadowed on a wreath of snow. 

I 

Oft the rapt bard had thought alone, 
Of charms by mankind never known ; 
Of virgins, pure as opening day, 
{Or bo£om of the flower of May : 



18 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 

Oft dreamed of beings free from stain, 
Of maidens of the emerald main, 
Of fairy dames in grove at even, 
Of angels in the walks of heaven : 
But, nor in earth, the sea, nor sky, 
In fairy dream, nor fancy's eye, 
Vision his soul had ever seen 
lake Maby jStuart, Scotland's Queen.- 



4P- 



QUEEN'S WAKE, 



NIGHT THE FIRST. 



Hushed was the court™the courtiers gazed— 
Each eye was bent, each soul amazed, 
To see that groupe of genuine worth, 
Those far-famed minstrels of the north. 
So motley wild their garments seemed ; 
Their eyes, where tints of madness gleamed, 
Fired with impatience every breast, 
And expectation stood confest. 

Short was the pause ; the stranger youth, 
The gaudy minstrel of the south, 
Whose glossy eye and lady form 
Had never braved the northern storm, 
Stepped lightly forth,— kneeled three times low,- 
And theo, with many a smile and foow, 



20 THE QUEEN'S night 

Mounted the form amid the ring. 
And rung his harp 's responsive string. 
Though true the chords, and mellow-toned, 
Long, long he twisted, long he coned ; 
Well pleased to hear his name they knew j 
" 'Tis Rizzio!" round in whispers flew. 

Valet with Parma's knight he came, 
An angler in the tides of fame ; 
And oft liad tried, with anxious pain, 
Respect of Scotland's Queen to gain. 
Too well his eye, with searching art, 
Perceived her fond, her wareless heart ; 
And though unskilled in Scottish song, 
Her m.tice he had wooed so long ; 
With pain by night, and care by day, 
He framed this fervid, flowery lay. — 



MALCOLM OF LORNT. 

THE FIRST bard's SONG. 
I. 

Came ye by Ora's verdant steep. 

That smiles the restless ocean over ? 
Heard ye a suffering maiden weep ? 

Heard ye her name a faithful lover.* 
Saw ye an aged matron stand 
O'er yon green grave above the strand. 
Bent like the trunk of withered tree, 
Or yon old thorn that sips the sea ? 



night I. WAKE. 21 

Fixed her dim eye, her face as pale 

As the mists that o'er her flew : 
Her joy is fled like the flower of the vale, 

Her hope like the morning dew ! 
That matron was lately as proud of her stay, 
As the mightiest monarch of sceptre or sway : 
O list to the tale ! 'tis a tale of soft sorrow, 
Of Malcolm of Lorn, and young Ann of Glen-Ora-, 

II. 

The sun is sweet at early mom, 

Just blushing from the ocean's bosom ; 
The rose that decks the woodland thorn 

Is fairest in its opening blossom ; 
Sweeter than opening rose in dew. 
Than vernal flowers of richest Ime, 
Than fragrant birch or weeping willow, 
Than red sun resting on the billow ; 
Sweeter than aught to mortals given 

The heart and soul to prove ; 
Sweeter than aught beneath the heaven, 

The joys of early love ! 
Never did maiden, and manly youth, 
Love with such fervour, and love with such truth • 
Or pleasures and virtues alternately borrow. 
As Malcolm of Lorn, and fair Ann of Glen-Ora, 

in. 

The day is come, the dreaded day. 
Must part two loving hearts for ever; 
4 



22 THE QUEEN'S night i. 

The ship lies rocking in the bay, 

The boat comes rippling up the river : 
O happy has the gloaming's eye 

In green Glen-Ora's bosom seen them ! 
But soon shall lands and nations lie, 

And angry oceans roll between them. 
Yes, they must part, for ever part ; 
Chill falls the truth on either heart ; 
For honour, titles, wealth, and state. 
In distant lands her sire await. 
The maid must witli her sire away, 

She cannot stay behind ; 
Strait to the south the pennons play, 

And steady is the wind. 
Shall Malcolm relinquish the home of his youth. 
And sail with his love to the lands of the south ? 
Ah, no ! for his father is gone to the tomb : 
One parent survives in her desolate home ! 
No child but her Malcolm to cheer her lone way : 
Break not her fond heart, gentle Malcolm, O, 
stay ! - 

IV. 

The boat impatient leans ashore. 

Her prow sleeps on a sandy pillow ; 
The rower leans upon his oar, 

Already bent to brush the billow, 
O ! Malcolm, view yon me) ting eyes, 

With tears yon stainless roses steeping ! 
O ! Malcolm, list thy mother's sighs ; 

She's leaning o'er lier staff and weeping ! 



night I. WAKE. 23 

Thy Anna's heart is bound to thine, 
And must that gentle heart repine ! 
Quick from the shore the boat must fly j 
Her soul is speaking through her eye ; 
Think of thy joys in Ora's shade j 

From Anna canst thou sever ? 
Think of the vows thou often hast made, 

To love the dear maiden for ever. 
And canst thou forego such beauty and youth, 
Such maiden honour and spotless truth p 
Forbid it !— He yields ; to the boat he draws nigh. 
Haste, Malcolm, aboard, and revert not thine eye. 

V. 

That trembling voice, in murmurs weak, 

Conies not to blast the hopes before thee j 
For pity, Malcolm, turn, and take 

A last farewell of her that bore thee. 
She says no word to mar thy bliss ; 
A last embrace, a parting kiss, 
Her love deserves ; — then be thou gonej 
A mother's joys are thine alone. 
Friendship may fade, and .fortune prove 

Deceitful to thy heart ; 
But never can a mother's love 

From her own offspring part. 
That tender foim, now bent and gray. 
Shall quickly sink to her native clay ; 
Then who shall watch her parting breath. 
And shed a tear o'er her couch of death ? 
Who follow the dust to its long, long home, 
\nd lay that head in an honoured tomb ? 



24 THE QUEEN'S night i 



VI. 

Oft hast thou, to lier bosom prest, 

For many a day about been borne j 
Oft hushed and cradled on her breast, 

And canst thou leave that breast forlorn ? 
O'er all thy ails her heart has bled ; 
Oft has she watched beside thy bed j 
Oft prayed for thee in dell at even, 
Beneath the pitying stars of heaven. 
Ah ! Malcolm, ne'er was parent yet 

So tender, so benign ! 
Never was maid so loved, so sweet, 

Nor soul so rent as thine ! 
He looked to the boat, — slow she heaved from the 

shore j 
He saw his loved Anna all speechless implore : 
But, grasped by a cold and a trembling hand. 
He clung to his parent, and sunk on tlie strand. 

vn. 

The boat across the tide flew fast. 

And left a silver curve behind ; 
Loud sung the sailor from the mast, .Jjf^^- 

Spreading his sails before the wind. 
The stately ship, adown the bay, 

A corslet framed of heaving snow, 
And flurred on high the slender spray. 

Till rainbowi gleamed around lier prow. 
How strained was Malcolm's watery eye, 
Yon fleeting vision to deaciy ! 



Bight I. WAKE. 25 

But, ah ! her lessening form so fair, 
Soon vanished in the liquid air. 
Away to Or.i's headland steep 

Tr.e youth retired the while, 
And saw th' unpitying vessel sweep 

Around yon Highland isle. 
His heart and his mind with that vessel had gone.; 
His sorrow was deep, and despairing his moan, 
When, lifting his eyes from the green heaving deep, 
He prayed the Almighty his Anna to keep. 

VIII. 

High o'er the crested cliffs of Loni 

The curlew coned her wild bravura ; 
The sun, in pall of purple borne, 

Was hastening down the steeps of Jura. 
The glowing ocean heaved her breast, 

Her wandering lover's glances under ; 
And shewed his radiant form, imprest 

Deep in a wavy world of wonder. 
Not all the ocean's dyes at even. 
Though varied as the bow of heavew; 
The countless isles so dusky blue. 
Nor medley of the gray curlew, 
Could light on Malcolm's spirit shed ; 

Their glory all was gone ! 
For his joy was fled, his hope was dead, 

And his heart forsaken and lone. 
The sea bird sought her roofless nest, 
To warm lier brood with her downy breast ; 
And near her home, on the margin dun, 
A motlier weeps o'er her duteous son. 



^^^ 



26 THE aUEEN'S night 



IX. 

One little boat alone is seen 

On all the lovely dappled main, 
That softly sinks the waves between, 

Then vaults their heaving breasts again j 
With snowy sail, and rower's sweep, 

Across llie tide she seems to fly. 
Why bears she on yon headland steep, 

Where neither house nor home is nigh ? 
Is that a vision from the deep 
That springs ashore and scales the steep, 
Nor ever stays its ardent haste 
Till sunk upon young Malcolm's breast ! 
O ! spare that breast so lowly laid, 

So fraught with deepest sorrow ! 
It is his own, his darhng maid, 

Young Anna of Glen Ora ! - 
" My Malcolm ! part we ne'er again ! 
My father saw thy bosom's pain j 
Pitied my grief from thee to sever ; 
Now I, and Glen-Ora, am thine for ever !"- 



X. 

That blaze of joy, through clouds of wo, 
Too fierce upon his heart did fall. 

But, ah ! the shaft had left the bow. 
Which power of man could not recall ! 

No word of love could Malcolm speak ; 
ISo raptured kiss his lips impart; 



night I. WAKE. 27 

No tear bedewed his shivering cheek, 
To ease the grasp that held his heart. 

His arms assayed one kind embrace — 
Will they enclose her ? never ! never ! 

A smile set softly on his face, 

But ah ! the eye was set for ever ! 

'Twas more than broken heart could brook ! 

How throbs that breast ! — How glazed that look ! 

One shiver more ! — All ! all is o'er ! 

As melts the wave on level shore ; 

As fades the dye of falling even, 

Far on the silver verge of heaven ; 

As on thy ear, the minstrel's lay, — 

So died the comely youth away." 



The strain died soft in note of wo, 
Nor breath nor whisper 'gan to flow 
From courtly circle ; all as still 
As midnight on the lonely hill. 
So well that foreign minstrel's strain 
Had mimicked passion, wo, and pain, 
Seemed even the chilly hand of death 
Stealing away his mellow breath. 
So sighed — so sloip'd — so died his lay, — 
His spirit too seemed fled for aye. 

'Tis true, tlie gay attentive throng 
Admired, but loved n^ t much, his song : 
Admired his wonderous voice and skill, 
His harp that thrilled c- wept at will. 
But thai affected aaudy rhyme, 
The querulous keys, and changing chime, 



28 THE QUEEN'S night i. 

• - 
Scarce could the Highland chieftain brook j 
Disdain seemed kindling in his look, 
That song so vapid, artful, terse, 
Should e'er compete with Scottish verse. 

But she, the fairest of the fair, 

Who sat enthroned in gilded chair, 

Well skilled in foreign minstrelsy 

And artful airs of Italy, 

Listened his song, with raptures wilcj^ 

And on the happy minstrel smiled. 

Soon did the wily stranger's eye 

The notice most tie wished espy. 

Then poured his numbers bold and free., 

Fired by the grace of m yesty ; 

And when his last notes died away, 

VVhen sunk in well-feigned death he lay, 

When round the crowd began to ring, 
Thinking his spirit on the wing, — 
First of the dames she came along, 
Wept, sighed, and marvelled 'mid the throng.' 
And when they raised him, it was said 
The beauteous Sovereign deigned her aid; 
And in her hands, so soft and warm, 
Upheld the minstrel's hand and arm. 
Then oped his eye with rapture fired ; 
He smiled, and, bowing oft, retired j 
Pleased he so soon had realized. 
What more than gold or fame he prized:. 

Next in the list was Gardyn's name : 
No sooner called than forth he camow 



Bight I. WAKE. 

Stately he strode, nor bow made he, 
Nor even a look of courtesy. 
The simpering cringe, and fawning look, 
Of him who late the lists forsook, 
Roused his proud heart, and fired his ey^, 
That glowed with native dignity. 

Full sixty years the bard had seen, 
Yet still his manly form and mien, 
His garb of ancient Caledon, 
Where lines of silk and scarlet shone, 
And golden garters 'neath his knee, 
Announced no man of mean degree. 

Upon his harp, of wonderous frame, 
Was carved his lineage and his name. 
There stood the cross that name above. 
Fair emblem of Almighty love ; 
Beneath rose an embossment proud, — 
A rose beneath a thistle bowed. 

Lightly upon the form he sprung, 
And his bold harp impetuous rung. 
Not one by one the chords he tried. 
But brushed them o'er from side to side, 
With either hand, so rapid, loud. 
Shook were the halls of Holyrood. 
Then in a mellow tone, and strong. 
He poured this wild and dreadful song,^— 



3tt THE QUEEN'S night i. 

YOUNG KENNEDY. 

THK SECOND BARD'S SONG. 



When the gusts of October had rifled the thorn, 
Had dappled the woodland, and umbered the 
plain, 
In den of the mountain was Kennedy born : 
There hushed by the tempest, baptized with 
the rain. 
His cradle, a mat that swung light on the oak ; 
His couch, the sear mountain-fern, spread on the 

rock J 
The white knobs of ice from the chilled nipple 

hung. 
And loud winter-torrents his lullaby sung. 

H. 

Unheeded he shivered, unheeded he cried ; 

Soon died on the breeze of the forest his moan. 
To his wailings, the weary wood-echo replied j 

His watcher, the wondering redbreast alone. 
Oft gazed his young eye on the whirl of the storm, 
And all the wild shades that the desert deform ; 
From cleft in the correi, which thunders had riven, 
It oped on the pale fleeting billows of heaven. 

III. 

The nursling of misery, young Kennedy learned 
His hunger, his thirst, and his passions to feed : 



night I. WAKE. 31 

With pity for others his heart never yearned, — 
Their pain was his pleasure, — their sorrow his 
meed. 
His eye was the eagle's, the twilight his hue ; 
His stature like pine of the hill where he grew ; 
His «oul was the iieal-fire, inhaled from his den, 
And never knew fear, save for ghost of the glen. 

IV. 

His father a chief, for barbarity known, 
Proscribed, and by gallant Macdougal expelled; 

Where rolls the dark Teith through the valley of 
Down, 
The conqueror's menial, he toiled in the field. 

His master he loved not, obeyed with a scowl. 

Scarce smothered liis hate, and his rancour of soul; 

When challenged, his eye and his colour would 
change, 

His proud bosom nursing and planning revenge. 

V. 

Matilda, ah ! wo that the wild rose's dye, 

Shed over thy maiden cheek, caused thee to rue! 

O ! why was the sphere of thy love-rolling eye 
Inlaid with the diamond, and dipt in the dew ! 

Thy father's sole daughter ; his hope, and his care; 

The child of his age, and the child of his prayer ; 

And thine was the heart, that was gentle and kind, 

And light as the feather, that sports in the wind. 



32 THE QUEEN'S night i. 



VI. 

To her home, from the Lowlands, Matilda re- 
turned J 
All fair was her form, and untainted'her mind. 

Young Kennedy saw her, his appetite burned 
As fierce as the moor-flame impelled by the 
wind. 

Was it love ? No j the ray his dark soul never 
knew. 

That spark which eternity burns to renew. 

'Twas the flash of desire, kindled fierce by re- 
venge, 

"Which savages feel the brown desert that range. 

VII. 

Sweet woman ! too well is thy tenderness known ; 

Too often deep sorrow succeeds thy love-smile ; 
Too oft, in a moment, thy peace overthrown, — 

Fair butt of delusion, of passion and guile ! 
What heart will not bleed for Matilda so gay, 
To art and to long perseverance a prey ? 
Why sings yon scared blackbird in sorrowful 

mood. 
Why blushes the daisy deep in the green-wood ? 

VIII. 

Sweet woman ! with virtue, thou'rt lofty, thou'rt 
free ; 
Yield that, thouVt a slave, asd the mark dJT 
disdaio : 



Bight 1. WAKE. 33 

No blossom of spring is beleagured like thee, 
Though brushed by the lightning, the wind, and 
the rain. 
Matilda is fallen ! With tears in her eye, 
She seeks her destroyer ; but only can sigh. 
Matilda is fallen, and sorrow her doom, — 
The flower of the valley is nipt in the bloom. 



IX. 

Ah ! Kennedyj vengeance hangs over thine head ! 

Escape to thy native Glengary forlorn. 
Why art thou at midnight away from thy bed ? 

Why quakes thy big heart at the break of the 
morn ? 
Why chatters yon magpie on gable so loud ? 
Why flits yon light vision in gossamer shroud ? 
How came yon white doves from the window to 

fly, 

And hover on weariless wing to the sky ? 



X. 

Yon pie is the prophet of terrour and death ; 

O'er Abel's green arbour that omen was given. 
Ton pale boding phantom, a messenger wraith j 

Yon doves, two fair angels commissioned of 
heaven. 
The sun is in state, and the reapers in motion ; 
Why were they not called to their morning devo- 
id tion.f 
Why slumbers Macdougal so long in his bed p 
Ah ! pale on his couch the old chieftain lies dead 



34 THE QUEEN'S night i. 

XI. 

Though grateful the hope to the death-bed thsit 
flies, 
That lovers and friends o'er our ashes will 
weep ; .^ 

The soul, when released from her lingering ties, 
In secret may see if their sorrows are deep. 

Who wept for the worthy Macdougal ? — Not 
one ! 

His darling Matilda, who, two months agone, 

Would have mourned for her father in sorrow ex- 
treme, 

Indulged in a painful delectable dream. 

XIL 

But, why do the matrons, while dressing the dead,! 

Sit silent, and look as if something they knew ? 

Why gaze on the features ? Why move they the 

head, 

And point at the bosom so dappled and blue P 

Say, was there foul play ? — Then, why sleeps thel 

red thunder ? 
Ah ! hold, for Suspicion stands silent with wonder. 
The body's entomb'd, and the green turf laid 

over, — 
Matilda is wed to her dark Highland lover. 



night I. WAKE. 35 



XIII. 

Yes, the new moon that stooped over green Aber- 
foyle, 
And shed her light dews on a father's new 
grave, 
Beheld, in her wane, the gay wedding turmoil, 

And lighted the bride to her chamber at eve : 
Blue, blue was the heaven ; and, o'er the wide 

scene, 
A vapouiy silver veil-floated serene, 
A fairy perspective, that bore from the eye 
Wood, mountain, and meadow, in distance to lie. 

XIV. 

The scene was so still, it was all like a vision ; 

The lamp of the moon seemed as fading for ever. 
'Twas awfully soft, without shade or elision ; 

And nothing was heard but the rush of the river. 
But why won't the bride-maidens walk on the lea, 
Nor lovers steal out to the sycamore tree p 
Why turn to the hall with those looks of confusion ? 
There's nothing abroad ! — 'tis a dream ! — a delu • 
sion ! 



XV. 

But why do the horses ?nort over their food, 
And cling t« the manger in seeming dismay P 



36 THE QUEEN'S night i. 

What scares the old owlet afar to the wood ? 
Why screams the blue heron, as hastening 

away ? 
Say, why is the dog hid so deep in his cover ? 
Each window barred up, and the curtain drawa 

over ; 
Each white maiden bosom still heaving so high, 
And fix'd on another each fear- speaking eye? 

XVI. 

*Tis all an illusion ! the lamp let us trim ! 

Come, rouse thee, old minstrel, to strains of 
renown ; 
The old cup is empty, fill round to the brim. 
And drink the young pair to their chamber just 
gone. 
Ha ! why is the cup from the lip ta'en away ? 
Why fix'd every form like a statue of clay ? 
Say, whence is tiiat noise and that horrible clam- 
our ? 
Oh, heavens ! it comes from the marriage bed- 
chamber. 

xvn. 

O ! haste thee, Strath- Allan, Glen-Ogle, away, 
These outcries betoken wild horrour and wo ; 

The dull ear of midnight is stunned with dismay ; 
Glen-Ogle ! Strath- Allan ! fly swift as the roe. 

Mid darkness and death, on eternity's brim, 

You stood with Macdonald and Archbald the 
grimj 



night I. WAKE. 37 

Then why do you hesitate ? why do you stand 
With claymore uusheathed, and red taper in hand ? 



XVIII. 

The tumult is o'er ; not a murmur nor groan ; 

WJiat footsteps so madly pace through the si.- 
loon ? 
'Tis Kennedy, naked and ghastly alone, 

Who hies him away by the light of the moon. 
All prostrate and bleeding, Matilda they found, 
The threshold her pillow, her couch the coli 

ground j 
Her features distorted, her colour the clay, 
Her feelings, her voice, and her reason away. 

XIX. 

Bre morn they returned j but how well had they 

never ! 
They brought with them horrour too deep ta 

sustain j 
Returned but to chasten, and vanish for ever, 
To harrow the bosem and fever the brain. 
List, list to her tale, youth, levity, beauty ; — 
O ! sweet is the path of devotion and duty ! — 
When ple-»sure smiles sweetest, dread danger and 

death. 
And think of Matilda, the flower of the Teith. 



38 THE QUEEN'S night j. 



XX. 

THE bride's tale. 

" I had just laid me down, but no word could 1 
pray; 
I had pillowed my head, and drawn up the bed- 
cover ; 
1 tliought of the bed where my loved father lay, 
So damp and so cold, with the grass growing 
over. 
I turned to my husband ; but just as he spread 
His arms to e>ii'old me, we saw round the bed, 
A gh;istly refulgence as bright as day-noon, 
Though shut was the chamber from eye of the 
moon. 

XXI. 

" Bestower of being ! in pity, O ! hide 
That sight from the eye of my spirit for ever j 

That page from the volume of memory divide, 
Or memory and being eternally sever ! 

My father approaciied ; our bed- curtains he drew j 

Ah ! well the gray locks and pale features I knew. 

i saw his fixt eye balls indignantly glow ; 

Yet still in that look there was pity and wo. 

xxn. 

" O ! hide thee, my daughter, he eagerly cried ; 
O haste from the bed of that panicide lover ! 



night I. WAKE. 39 

Embrace not thy husband, unfortunate bride, 

Thy red cup of misery ah-eady runs over. 
He strangled thy father ! thy guilt paved the way ; 
Thy heart yet is blameless, O fly while you may ! 
Thy portion of life must calamity learen ; 
But fly while there's hope of forgiveness from 
heaven. 



XXIII. 

*' And thou, fell destroyer of virtue and life ! 

O ! well raay'st thou quake at thy terrible 
doom ; 
For body or soul, with barbarity rife, 

On earth is no refuge, in heaven no room. 
Fly whither thou wilt, I will follow thee still, 
To dens of the forest, or mists of the hill ; 
The task I'm assigned, which I'll never forego, 
But chase thee from earth to thy dwelling below. 

XXIV. 

" The cave shall not cover, the cloud shall not 
hide thee ; 

At noon I will wither thy sight with my frown ; 
In gloom of liie night, I will lay me beside thee, 

And pierce with this weapon thy bosom of stone. 
Fast fled the despoiler with bowlings most dire, 
Fast followed the spirit with rapier of fire j — 
Away, and away, through the silent saloon. 
And away, and away, by the light of the moort* 



40 THE QUEEN'S night i. 



XXV. 

*' To follow I tried, but sunk down at the door. 

Alas ! from that trance that I ever awoke. 
How wanders my mind ! I shall see him no more, 

Till God shall yon gates everlasting unlock. 
My poor brow is open, 'tis burning with pain, 
O kiss it, sweet vision ! O kiss it again ! 
Now give me thine hand ; I will fly ! I will fly ! 
Away, on the morn's dappled wing, to the sky.'* 

XXVI. 

THE CONCLUSION. 

O ! shepherd of Braco, look well to thy flock, 
The piles of Glen- Ardochy murmur and jar ; 
The rook and the raven converse from the rock, 

The beasts of the forest are howling afar. 
Shrill pipes the goss-hawk his dire tidings to tell. 
The gray mountain-falcon accoids with his yell j 
Aloft on bold pinion the eagle is borne, 
To ring the alarm at the gates of the morn. 

XXVII. 

Ah ! shepherd, thy kids wander safe in the wood, 
Thy lambs feed in peace on Ben-Ardochy's 
brow ; 

Then why is the hoary clifF sheeted with blood ? 
And what the poor carcass lies mangled below p 

Oh hie thee away to thy hut at the fountain. 

And dig alone grave on the top of yon mountain ; 



night I. WAKE. 41 

But fly it for ever when falls the gray gloaming, 
For there a grim phantom still naked is roaming. 



Gardyn with stately step withdrew, 
While plaudits round the circle flew. 

Wo that the bard, whose thrilling song 
Has poured from age to age along, 
Should perish from the lists of fame, 
And lose his only boon, a name. 
Yet many a song of wonderous power. 
Well known in cot and green-wood bower, 
Wherever swells the shepherd's reed 
On Yarrow's banks and braes of Tweed; 
Yes, many a song of olden time, 
Of rude array, and air sublime, 
Though long on time's dark whirlpool tossed; 
The song is saved, the bard is lost. 

Yet have I weened, when these I sung 
On Ettrick banks, while mind was young; 
When on the eve their strains I threw. 
And youths and maidens round me drew ; 
Or cliaunted in the lonely glen. 
Far from the haunts and eyes of men ; 
Yes, I have weened, with fondest sigh, 
The spirit of the bard was nigh ; 
Swung by the br-^eze on braken pile, 
Or hovering o'er me with a smile. 
Would fancy still her dreams combine, 
That spirit, too, might breathe on mine ; 



42 THE QUEEN'S night i. 

Well pleased to see her songs the joy 
Of that poor louely shepherd boy. 

'Tis said, and I believe the tale, 
That many rhymes which still prevail, 
Of genuine ardour, bold and free, j 

Were aye admired, and aye will be, "^ 

Had never been, or shortly stood, 
But for that Wake ai Holyrood. 
Certes that many a bard of name. 
Who there -appeared and strove for fame, 
No record names, nor minstrel's tongue j 
Not even are known the lays they sung. 

The fifth was from a western shore, 
Where rolls the dark and sullen Orr. 
Of peasant make, and doubtful mien. 
Affecting airs of proud disdain ; 
Wide curled his raven locks and high, 
Dark Avas his visage, dark hi;? ej'e, 
Th;?t glanced around on dames and mee 
Like falcons on the cliffs of Ken. 
No one could read the character. 
If knnve or genhis writ was there; 
But all !>iipposcd, from mien and frame, 
From Erin he an exile came. 

With hollow voice, and harp well strung, 
*' Fair Margai-et" was the song he sung, 
Well known to maid and matron gray, 
Through all the glens of Galloway. 
Wh^n first the bard his song began. 
Of dreams and bodings hard to scan, 



uighi I. WAKE. 43 

Listened the Court, with sidelong bend, 
In wonder how the strain would end. 
But long ere that, it grew so plain, 
They scarce from hooting could refrain j 
And when the minstrel ceased to sing, 
A smothered hiss ran round tlie ring. 
Red looked our bard around the form. 
With eye of fire, and face of storm ; 
Sprung to his seat, with awkward leap, 
And nmttered curses dark and deep. 

The sixth, too, from that country he. 
Where heath-cocks bay o'er western Dee; 
Where Summer spreads her purple skreen 
O'er moors, where greensward ne'er was seen; 
Nor shade, o'er all the prospect stern, 
Save crusted rock, or warriour's cairn. 

Gentle his form, his manners meet. 
His harp was soft, his voice was sweet j 
He sung Lochryan's hapless maid. 
In bloom of youth by love betrayed : 
Turned from her lover's bower at last, 
To brave the chilly midnight blast ; 
And bitterer far, the pangs to prove, 
Of ruined fame, and slighted love ; 
A tender babe, her arms within, 
Sobbing and " shivering at the chin." 
No lady's cheek in court was dry, 
So softly poured the melody. 

The eighth was from the Leven coast : 
The rest who sung that night are lost. 



44 THE QUEEN'S night i. 

Mounted the bard of Fife on high, 
Bushy his bread, and wild his eye : 
His haggard cheek was pale as clay, 
And his thin locks were long and gray. 
Some wizard of the wild he seemed, 
Who through the scenes of life had dreamed. 
Of spells that vital life benumb. 
Of formless spirits wandering dumb, 
Where aspins in the moon-beam quake, 
By mouldering pile, or mountain lake. 

He deemed that fays and spectres wan 
Held converse with the thoughts of man j 
In dreams their future fates foretold, 
And spread the death-flame on the wold j 
Or flagged at eve each restless wing, 
In dells their vesper hymns to sing. 

Such -was our bard, such were his lays ; 
And long by green Benarty's base, 
His wild wood notes, from ivy cave, 
Had waked the dawning from the wave. 
At evening Call, in lonesome dale, 
He kept strange converse with the gale j 
Held worldly pomp in high derision. 
And wandered in a world of vision. 

Of mountain ash his harp was framed, 
The brazen chord? all trembling flamed, 
As in a rugged northern tongue, 
This nsad unearthly song he sung. 



WAKE. 45 



THE WITCH OF FIFE. 

THE EIGHTH BARD'S SONG. 

Quliare haif ye been, ye ill womyne, 
These three lang nightis fra hame ? 
Quhat garris the sweit drap fra yer brow, 
Like clotis of the saut sea faem ? 

" It fearis me muckil ye haif seen 

Quhat good man never knew ; 
It fearis ine muckil ye haif been 

Quhare t)ie gray cock never crew,. 

" But the spell may crack, and the brydel brect 

Then sherpe yer werde will bej 
Ye had better sleipe in yer bed at hame, 

VV'i' yer deir littil bairnis and me." — 

' Sit dnne, sit dune, ray leil auld man, 

Sit dime, and listin to me ; 
I'll gar the hayre stand on yer crown, 

And thecauld sweit blind yer e'e. 

' But tell nae wordis, my gude auld man, 

Tell never word again ; 
Or deire shall be yer courtisj^e, 

And driche and sair yer pain, 

' The first leet night, quhan the new moon set, 
Quhim all was douffe and mirk, 
6 



46 THE QUEEN'S night i. 

We saddled ouir naigis wi' the moon-fern leif, 
And rode fra Kilmerrin kirk. 

" Some horses ware of the brume-cow framit, 

And some of the greine bay tree ; 
But mine was made of ane humloke schaw, 

And a stout stallion was he. 

* We raide the tod doune on the hill, 

The martin on the law ; 
And we huntyd the hoolet out of brethe, 
And forcit him doune to fa.' — 

*' Quhat guid was that, ye ill womyne P 

Quhat guid was that to thee ? 
Ye wald better half been in yer bed at hame, 

Wi' yer deire littil bairnis and me." — 

* And aye we raide, and se merrily we raide, 

Throw the merkistgloffis of the night ; 
And we swam the floode, and we darait the woode, 
Till we cam to the Lommond height. 

* And quhen we cam to the Lommond height, 

Se lythlye we lychtid doune ; 
And we drank fra the hornis that never grew, 
The beer that was never browin. 

* Then up there rase ane wee wee man, 

Franetlie the moss-gray stane ; 
His fece wis wan like the collifloure, 
Fof he flouthir had biude nor bane. 



night I. WAKE. 47 

' He set ane reid-pipe till his muthe, 

And he playit se bonnilye, 
Till the gray curlew, and the black-cock, flew 

To listen his melody e. 

' It rang se sweet through the green Lommond, 
That the nycht-winde lowner blew j 

And it soupit alang the Loch Leven, 
And wakinit the white sea-mew. 

* It rang se sweet through the grein Lommond, 

Se sweitly butt and se shill, 
That the wezilis laup out of their mouldy hoIi«, 
And dancit on the mydnycht bill, 

* The corby craw cam gledgin near, 

The ern gede veeryng bye ; 
And tlie troutis laup out of the Leven Loch, 
Charmit with the melodye. 

' And aye we dancit on the green Lommond, 

Till the dawn on the ocean grew : 
Ne wonder I was a weary wycht 

Quhan I cam hame to you.' — 

*' Quhat guid, quhat guid, my weird weird wyfe, 

Quiiat guid was that to thee p 
Ye wald better haif bein in yer bed at hame, 

\V1' yer deire littil bairnis and me." — 

' The second nycht, quhan the new moon set, 
O'er the roaryng sea we flew j 



4a THE QUEEN'S night i 

The cockle-shell our trusty bark, 
Our sailis of the grein Sea-rue. 

' And the bauld windls blew, and the fire'flauchtis 
flew, 
And the sea ran to the sfcie ; 
And the thunner it growlit, and the sea-dogs 
howlit, 
As we gaed scouryng bye. 

' And aye we mountit the sea-gi-een hil-'s, 

Quljiil we brushit thro' the cliidis of the hevin j 

Than Rousitdounright like 11)6 stevn-shot light, 
Fra the liftis blue casement driven. 

' But our taickil stood, and our bark was good, 
And se pang was our pearily prowe ; 

Quhan we culdna speil the brow of the wavis, 
We needilit them throu belowe. 

' As fast as the hail, as fast as she gale, 

As fist as the midnycht leme, 
We borit the breiste of the burstyng swale, 

Or fluffit i' the flotyng faem. 

' And quhan to the Norraway shore we wan. 
We muntyd our steedis of the wynd, 

And we splashit the floode, and we darnit the 
woode, 
And we left the shouir behynde. 

' Fleet is the roe on the green Lommond, 
And swift is the couryng grew • 



night i. WAKE. 49 

The reiu-deir dun can eitbly run, 
Quhan the houndis and the hornis pursue. 

* But nowther the roe, nor the rein-deir dun, 

The hinde nor the couryng grew, 
Culd fly owr rauntaine, muir, and dale, 
As owr braw steedis they flew. 

' The dales war deep, and tlie DofFrinis steep. 

And we rase "to the skyis ee-bree ; 
Quhite, quhite Avas ouir rode, that was never trode, 

Owr the snawis of eternity ! 

' And quhan we cam to the Lapland lone, 

The fairies war ail in array, 
For all the genii of the north 

War keepyng their holeday. 

' The warlock ir.en and the weerd wemyng, 
And the fays of the wood and the sleep, 

And tlie phantom hunteris all war there, 
And t!ie mermaidis of the deep. 

* And they washit us all with the witch-water, 

Dfstlllit fra the moorland dew, 
Quhill our beauty blumit like the Lapland roc*^. 
That wylde in the forestc grew.' — 

" Ye lee, ye lee, ye ill womj^ne, 

Se loud as 1 ht'ir ye lee ! 
For the warst-faurd wj'fe on the shoris of Fyfe 

Is cUmlye coinparet wi' tliec." — 



50 THE QUEEN'S night i. 

' Then the mer-maidis sang and the woodlandii 
rang, 

Se sweetly swellit the quire ; 
On every cliff a herpe tliey hang, 

On every tree a lyre. 

' And aye they sang, and the woodl^ndis rang, 
And we drank, and we drank se deep; 

Then soft in the armis of the warlock men, 
We laid us dune to sleep.' — 

" Away, away, ye ill womyne, 

An ill deide met ye dee ! 
Quhan ye hae pruvit se false to yer God, 

Ye can never pruve trew to me." — 

* And there we lernit fra the fairy foke 

And fra our master true. 
The wordis that can beire us throu the air^ 

And lokkis and baris undo. 

' Last nycht we met at Maisry's cot ; 

Richt well the wordis we knew ; 
And we set a foot on the black cruik-shell, 

And out at the lum we flew. 

' And we flew owr hill, and we flew owr dale, 

And we flew owr firth and sea, 
Until we cam to merry Carlisle, 

Quhar we lightit on the lea. 

'Wegaed to the vault beyound the towij', 
Quhar we enterit free as ayr ; 



night I. WAKE. 51 

And we drank, and we drank of the bishopis wine 
Quhillwe culde drynk ne mair.' — 

" Gin that be trew, my gude auld wyfe, 

Whilk thou hast tauld to me, 
Betide my death, betide my lyfe, 

I'll beire thee corapanye. 

" Neist tyrae ye gaung to merry Carlisle 

To drynk of the blude-reid wine, 
Beshrew my heart, I'll fly with thee, 

If thediel should fly behynde." — 

'Ah ! little do ye ken, my silly auld maa. 

The daingeris we maun dree ; 
Last nichte we drank of the bishopis wyn^ 

Quhill near near taen war we. 

* Afore we wan to the sandy ford, 

The gor cockis nichering flew j 
The lofty crest of Ettrick Pen 

Was wavit about with blew, 
And, flichtering throu the air, we fand 

The chill chill momyng dew. 

* As we flew owr the hillis of Braid, 

The sun rase fair and clear ; 
There gurly James, and his baronis braw, 
War out to hunt the deere. 

^ Their bowis they drew, their arrowis flevr, 
And peireit the ayr with speede, 



52 THE QUEEN'S night x. 

Quhill purpil fell the mornyng dew 
With witch-blude rank and reide. 

* Littil do ye ken, ray silly auld man, 

The dangeris we maun dree ; 
Ne wonder I am a weary wycht 
Quhan I come hame to thee,' — 

" But tell me the word, my gude auld wyfe, 

Come tell it me speedilye ; 
For 1 lang to drink of the jude reide wyne, 

And to wyng the ayr with thee. 

" Yer hellish horse I wilna ryde, 

Nor sail the seas in the wynd j 
But I can flee as well as thee, 

And I'll drynk quhile ye be blynd." 

' O fy ! O fy ! my leil auld man, 

That word I darena tell j 
It wald turn this warld all upside down, 

And make it warse than hell. 

* For all the lasses in the land 

Wald munt the wynd and fly ; 
And the men wald doff their doublets syde, 
And after them wald ply.' — 

But the auld gudeman was ane cunnyng auld man , 
And ane cunnyng auld man was he ; 

And he watciiit, and he watchit for mony a nychtc, 
The witches' flychte to see. 



nJght I. WAKE. 53 

Ane nychte lie darnit in Maisry's cot ; 

The fearless haggs carac in ; 
And he heard the word of av. some weirdy 

And ho saw their deed is of synn. 

Then ane by ane, they said that word, 

As fas,^t to the fire I hey drew ; 
Then set t foot on the bl?-ck cruik-shell, 

And out at the liim t'ley flew. 

The auldguderann c?me fra his hole 

AVitli feire and muckil dreide, 
But yet he culdna think to rue, 

For the wyne came in his head. 

He set his foot in the Wack cniik-shell, 
With nne 'ixit and ane wawlyngee; 

And he said the word that I darena say, 
And out at the lum flew he. 

The witches skalit the moon-beim pale ; 

Deep groanit the tiembling wynde ; 
But tliey never wist till our auld fi;udeman 

Was hoveryng tb.em behynde. 

They flew to the vaultis of merry Carlisle, 

Quhair they eiiterit free ?s" nyr; 
And they drank and they drank of the bishof is 
wyne 

Quhill they culde drynk ne mair. 

The auld gudeman he grew se crouse, 
He dancit on the mouldy ground, 



M THE QUEEN'S night i 

And he sang the bonniest songs of Fife, 
And he tuzzlit the kerlyngs round. 

And aye he percit the titlier butt, 
And he suckit, and he suckit se lang, 

Quhill his een they closit, and his voice grew low, 
And his tongue wald hardly gang. 

The kerlyngs drank of the bishopis wyne 
Qubill they scentit the mornyng wynde j 

Then clove again the yeilding ayr, 
And left the auld man behynde. 

And aye he slepit on the damp damp floo^, 

He slepit and he snorit amain ; 
He never dreamit he was far fra hame, 

Or that the auld wyvis war gane. 

And aye he slepit on the d:imp damp flooy, 

Quhill past the mid-day highte, 
Q,uhan wakenit by five rough Englishmen, 

That trailit him to the lychte. 

" Now quha are ye, ye silly auld man, 

That sleepis se sound and se weil ? 
Or how gat ye into th bishopis vault 

Throu lokkis and barris of steel?" 

The auld gudeman he tryit to speak, 

But ane word he c.uldna fynde ; 
He tryit to t!iink but his head whirlit round, 

And ane thing he culdna mynde;— 



night I. WAKE. 55- 

*' I cam fra Fyfe," the auld man cryit, 
" And I cam on the miduycht wynde." 

They nickit the auld man, and they prickit the 
auld man, 

And they yerkit his llmbis with twine, 
Quhill the reid blude ran in his hose and shoon, 

But some cryit it was wyne. 

They lick it the auld man, and they prickit the 
auld man, 

And they tyit him till ane stone ; 
And they set ane bele-fire him about, 

To burn him skin and bone. 

' * O wae to me !" said the puir auld man, 

" That ever I saw the day ! 
And wae be to all the ill wemyng 

That lead puir men astray ! 

" let nevir ane auld man after this 

To lawless greide inclyne ; 
Let nevir ane auM man after this 

Kin post to the deil for wyne." 

The reike flew up in the auld raanis face, 

And choukit him bitteriye ; 
And the lowe cam up witli ane angry blese, 

And it syngit his auld breek-nee. 

He lukit to the land fra whence he came, 
For hikis he culde get ne maej 



66 THE QUEEN'S night i. 

And he ihochte of his deire littil bairnis at hame, 
And O 'iie auld man was wae ! 

But they turnit their facis to the sun, 

Witi; gloffe and wondorous glair, 
r yi they saw aue thing botli iairge and dun, 

Coniin swaipia down the aire. 

Tliat burd it cam fra tlie landis o' Fife, 

And it cam jycht tymeouslye, 
For quha was it but the auld manis wife, 

Just comit his delhe to see. 

Scho pat ane reide cap on his heide, 

And the z\i\d gudeman iookit fain, 
Then whisperit ane word intil his lug, 

And tovit to the aire again. 

The au!d gudeni^.n he gae ane hob 

I' the mids o' the burnyng lowe ; 
And the she:; lis that band him to the ring, 

They fell fra his annis like towe. 

He drew his breath, and he said the word, 

And be s.^id it with mnckle glee, 
Then set his fit on the burnyng pile, 

And av,-ay to t'le aire flew he. 

Till aince he cleirit the swirlyng reike, 

He ;ukit :>eth ferit and sad j 
But whan he wan to the lycht blue aire, 

He lauchit as heM been mad. 



night I. WAKE. 

His arniis war spred, and his heide was hiche, 
And his feile stack out beliyiule ; 

And the laibies of the auld aianis cote 
War waufFyng in the wynde. 

And aye he neicherit, and aye he flew, 
For lie thochte the ploy se raire ; 

It was like the voice of the gaiuder blue, 
Whan lie flees throu the aire. 

He lukit back to tJie Carlisle men 

As he borit the norlan sky ; 
He noddit his heide, and gae ane girn, 

But he nevir said gude-bye. 

They vanisht far i' the liftis blue wale, 

Ke raaire the English saw, 
But the anld manis laache cam on the gale, 

With a Ling and a loud gaffa. 

May everiike man in the land of Fife 

Read what the drinkeris dree ; 
And nevir curse his puir auld wife, 

Rychte wicked altho seho be. 



When ceased the minstrel's crazy song, 
His h.eedful glance embraced the throng, 
And found the smile of free delight 
Dimpling the cheeks of ladies bright. 
Ah ! never yet was bard usimoved, 
When beauty smiled or birth approved ! 



S8 THE QUEEN'S night i 

For thougli his song he holds at nought — 
" An idle strain ! a passing thought !" — 
Child of the soul ! 'tis held more dear 
Than aught by mortals valued here. 

When Leven's bard the Court had vieTved, 
His eye, his vigour, was renewed. 
No, not the evening's closing eye, 
Veiled in the rainbow's deepest dye, 
By summer breezes lulled to rest, 
Cradled on Leven's silver breast, 
Or slumbering on the distant sea, 
Imparted sweeter esctasy. 

Nor even the angel of the night, 
Kindling his holy sphere of light, 
Afar upon the heaving deep. 
To light a world of peaceful sleep, 
Though in her beam night-spirits glanced, 
And lovely fays in circles danced, 
Or rank by rank rode lightly by. 
Was sweeter to our minstrel's eye. 

Unheard the bird of morning crew ; 
Unheard the breeze of Ocean blew j 
The night unweened had passed away, 
And davrning ushered in the day. 
Tiie Queen's young maids of cherub hue, 
Aside the silken curtains drew. 
And lo tlie- Night, in still profound. 
In fleece of heaven had clothed the ground ; 
And still her furs, so light and fair, 
Floated along the morning air. 



Higiiti. WAKE. 50 

Low stooped the pine amid the wood, 
And the tall cliffs of Salsbury stood 
Like marble columns bent and riven, 
Propping a pale and frowning heaven. 

The Queen bent from her gilded chair, 
And waved her hand with graceful air :-«- 
*' Break up the court, my lords ; away» 
And use the day as best you may. 
In sleep, in love, or wassail cheer j 
The day is dark, the evening near, 
Say, will you grace my halis the while. 
And in the dance the day beguile ? 
Break up the court, my lords ; away, 
And use the day as best you may. 
Give order that my minstrels true 
Have royal fare and honours due ; 
And warned by evening's bugle shrill, 
We meet to judge their minstrel skill."-*- 

Whether that royal wake gave birth 
To days of sleep and nights of mirth. 
Which kings and courtiers still approve, 
Which sages blame, and ladies love. 
Imports not ;— but our courtly throng, 
(That chapel wake being kept so long,) 
Slept out the lowering short lived diys, 
And heard by night their nat've lays, 
Till fell the eve of Christmas good. 
The dedication of the rood. 

Ah me ! at routs and revels gay, 
Eeproach of this uuthrifty day, 



I 



60 THE QUEEN'S WAKE, night 

Though none amongst the dames or men 
Rank higher than a citizen, 
In chair or chariot all are borne, 
Closed from the piercing eye of morn ; 
But then, though dawning blasts were keen, 
Scotland's high daines you might have seen, 
Ere from the banquet haM they rose. 
Shift t!:eir laced shoes and silken hose ; 
Their broidered kirtles round them throw, 
And wade teir way through wreaths of snow, 
Leaning on Lrrd or lover's arm, 
Cheerful and '^eckless of all harm. 
Vanished those hardy times outright j 
So is our ancient Scottish might. 

Sweet be her home, admired her charm>, 
Bliss to her couch in lover's arms, 
I bid in every minstrel's name, 
I bid to every lovely dame, 
That ever gave one hour away 
To cheer the bard or list his lay ! 

To all who love the raptures high 
Of Scottish song and minstrelsy, 
Till next the night, in sable shroud, 
Shall wrap tlie halls of Holyrood, 
That rival minstrels' songs 1 borrow, — 
I bid a hearty kind good-morrow. 



«)\D OF NIGHT THK FIB«T. 



QUEEN'S WAKE. 



NIGHT THE SECOND. 



QUEEN'S WAKE. 



KIGHT THE SECOND. 



fecARCE fled the dawning's dubious graj*, 
So transient was that dismal day. 
The lurid vapours, dense and stern, 
Unpierced save by the crusted cairn, 
In ten-fold shroud the heavens deforna j 
While far within the moving stoma. 
Travelled the sun in lonely blue. 
And noontide wore a twilight hue. 

The sprites that through the welkin wing, 
That light and shade alternate bring. 
That wrap the eve in dusky veil. 
And weave the morning's purple rail ; 
From pendent clouds of deepest grain, 
Shed that dull twilight o'er the main. 



64 THE QUEEIV'S night n, 



Each spire, each tower, and clifF sublime, 
Were hooded in the wreathy rime ; 
And all, ere fell the murk of even, 
Were lost within the folds of heaven 
It seemed as if the welkin's breast 
Had bowed upon the world to rest j 
As heaven and earth to close began, 
And seal the destiny of man. 

The supper bell at Court had rung ; 
The mass was said, the vesper £ung j 
In true devotion's sweetest mood, 
Beauty had kneeled before tiie rood ; 
But all was done in secret guise. 
Close from the zealot's searching eyes. 

Then burst the bugle's lordly peal 
Along the eartli's incumbent veil ; 
Swam on the cloud and lingering shower. 
To festive hall and lady's bower ; 
And found its way, with rapid boom. 
To rocks far curtained in the gloom, 
And waked their viewless bugle's strain. 
That sung the softened notes again. 



Upsprung the maid from her love-dream ; 
The matron from her silken seam ; 
The abbot from his holy shrine ; 
The chiefs and warriours from their wine ; 
For aye the bugle seemed to say, 
" The Wake's begun! away, away !'i 



^ 



Aightii. WAKE. €5 

Fast poured they in, all fair and boon, 
Till crowded was the grand saloon j 
And scarce was left a little ring, 
In which the rival bards might sing. 

First in the list that night to play, 
Was Farquhar, from the hills of Spey : 
A gay and comely youth was he. 
And seemed of noble pedigree. 
Well known to him Locli-Avin's shore. 
And all the dens of dark Glen-More j 
Where oft, amid his roving clan, 
His shaft had pierced the ptarmigan ; 
And oft the dun-deer's velvet side 
That winged shaft had ruthless dyed, 
Had struck the heath-cock whirring high, 
And brought the eagle from the sky. 

Amid those scenes the youth was bred. 
Where Nature's eye is stern and dread j 
Mid forests dark, and caverns wild. 
And mountains above mountains piled, 
IV'hose hoary summits, tempest-riven, 
Uprear eternal snows to heaven. 

Aloof from battle's fierce alarms, 
Prone his young mind to musick's charms. 
The cliffs and woods of dark Glen-More 
He taught to chaunt in mystick lore j 
For well he "weened, by tarn and hill. 
Kind viewless spirits wandered still ; 
And fondly trowed the groups to spy, 
r.istrr.ing his clift'born melody. 



66 THE QUEEN'S 

)n Leven's bard with scorn he looked, 
tlis homely song he scarcely brooked j 
But proudly mounting on the form, 
Thus sung The Spirit of the Storm. 



GLEN-AVIN. 

THE NINTH BABD'S SONG. 

Beyond the grizzly cliffs, which guard 
The infant rills of Highland Dee, 

Where hunter's horn was never heard, 
Nor bugle of the forest bee j 

Mid wastes that dern and dreary lie, 
One mountain rears his mighty form, 

Disturbs the moon in passing by, 
And smiles above the thunder storm. 

There Avin spreads her ample deep. 
To mirror cliffs that brush the wain j 

Whose frigid eyes eternal weep, 
In Summer suns and Autumn rain, 

There matin hymn was never sung j 
Nor vesper, save the plover's wail ; 

But mountain eagles breed their young, 
And airy spirits ride the gale. 

^An hoary sage once lingered there. 
Intent to prove gome mystick scene ; 

Though cavern deep, and forest sere, 
Had whooped November's boisterous reign. 



Bight II. WAKE. ia 

That noontide fell so stern and still, 
The breath of nature seemed away ; 

The distant sigh of mountain rill 
Alone disturbed that solemn day. 

Oft had that seer, at break of morn, 
Beheld the fahm glide o'er t!ie fell j 

And 'neath the new moon's silver horn, 
The fairies dancing in the dell. 

Had seen the spirits of tiie Glen, 

In every form that Ossian knew j 
And wailings heard for living men. 

Were never more the light to vievr. 

But, ah ! that dull foreboding day, 
He saw what mortal could not bear j 

A sight that scared the erne away, 
And drove the wild deer from his lair. 

Firm in his magick ring he stood, 

When, lo ! aloft on gray Cairn Germ, 

A form appeared that chilled his blood,— 
The giant Spirit of the Storm. 

His face was like the spectre wan. 
Slow gliding from the miduiglit islej 

His stature, on the mighty plan 
Of smoke- tower o'er the burning pile. 

Red, red and grizzly were his eyes 4 
His cap the mooQ-cloud's silver gray j 



6^ I'HE QUEEN'S night u. 

His staff the writhed snake, that lies 
Pale, bending o'er the milky-way. 

He cried, " Away, begone, begone ! 

Half-naked, hoary, feeble form ! 
How darest thou hold my realms alone. 

And brave the Angel of the Storm F"— 

" And who art thou," the seer replied, 
" That bear'st destruction on thy brow ? 

Whose eye no mortal can abide ? 
Dread mountain Spirit ! what art thou ?" 

" Within this desert, dark and long, 
Since rolled the world a shoreless sea, 

I've held my elemental throne. 
The terrour of thy race and thee. 

" I wrap the sun of heaven in blood. 

Veiling his orient beams of light ; 
And hide the moon in sable shroud, 

Far in the alcove of the night. 

" I ride the red bolt's rapid wing, 

High on the sweeping whirlwind sail, 

And list to hear my tempests sing 
Around Glen-Aviu's ample wale. 

" These everlasting hills are riven j 
Their reverend heads are bald and grayj 

The Greenland waves salute the heaven, 
And quench the burning stars with spray. 



Bight II. WAKE. 69 

" Who was it reared those whelming waves ? 

Who scalped the brows of old Cairn-Gorm ? 
And scooped these ever-yawning caves ? 

*Twas I, the Spirit of the Storm. 

" And hence shalt thou, for evermore. 
Be doomed to ride the blast with me j 

To shriek, amid the tempest's roar» 
By fountain, ford, and forest tree." 

Tlie wizard cowered him to the earth, 

And orisons of dread began : 
•' Hence, Spirit of infernal birth ! 

Thou enemy of God and man !" 

He waved his sceptre nor@i away, 

The arctick ring was rift asunder; 
And through the heaven, the startling bray 

Burst louder than the loudest thunder. 

The feathery clouds, condensed and curled, 
la columns swept the quaking glen j 

Destruction down the dale was hurled, 
O'er bleating flocks and wondering men. 

The Grampians groaned beneath the storm; 

New mountains o'er the correis lean'd j 
Ben-Nevis shook his shaggy form, 

And wondered what his Sovereign mean'd. 

Even far on Yarrow's fairy dale. 
The shepherd paused in dumb dismay; 
8 



70 THE QUEEN'S night ii. 

And passing shrieks adown the vale 
Lured many a pitying hind away. 

The Lowthers felt the tyrant's wrath ; 

Proud Hartfell quaked beneath his brand ; 
And Cheviot heard the cries of death, 

Guarding his loved Northumberland. 

Bnt, O ! as fell that fateful night, 

What horrours Avin wilds deform. 
And choke the ghastly lingering light ! 

There whirled the vortex of the storm. 

Ere morn the wind grew deadly still, 

And dawning in the air, updrew, 
From many a shelve and shining hill, 

Her folding robe of fairy blue. 

Then, what a smooth and wonderous scene 
Hung o'er Loch-Avin's lonely breast ! 

iNot top of tallest pine was seen, 
On which the dazzled eye ceuld re§t. 

But mitred cliff, and crested fell, 

In lucid curls her brows adorn, 
Aloft the radiant crescents swell, 

All pure as robes by angels worn. 

Sound sleeps our seer, far from the day. 
Beneath yon sleek and wreathed cone ! 

His spirit steals, unmissed, away, 
And dreams across the desert lone. 



night 11. WAKE. 

Sound sleeps onr seer ! the tempests rave, 
And cold sheets o'er his bosom fling ; 

The moldwarp digs his mossy grave j 
His requiem Avin eagles sing. 

IVhy howls the fox above yon wreath, 
That mocks the blazing Summer sun ? 

IV hy croaks the sable bird of death, 
As hovering o'er yon desert dun ? 

When circling years have past away, 
And Summer blooms in Avin glen, 

Why stands yon peasant in dismay, 
Still gazing o'er the bloated den ? 

Green grows the grass ! the bones are white ! 

Not bones of mountain stag they seem ! 
There hooted once the owl by night, 

Above the dead-light's lambent beam ! 

See yon lone cairn, so gray with age, 
Above the base of proud Cairn-Gorm .: 

There lies the dust of Avin's sage. 
Who raised the Spirit of the Storm. 

Yet still at eve, or midnight dreir. 
When wintry winds begin to sweep, 

When passing shrieks assail thine ear, 
Or murmurs by the mountain steep ; 

When from the dark and sedgy dells 
Came eldrich cries of wildered men, 



72 THE QUEEN'S night n. 

Or wind-harp at thy window swells, — 
Beware the sprite of Avin-Glen ! 



Young Parquhar ceased, and, rising slow, 
Doffed his plumed bonnet, wiped his brow, 
And, flushed with conscious dignity, 
Cast o'er the crowd his falcon eye, 
And found them all in silence deep. 
As listening for the tempest's sweep. 
So well his tale of Avin's seer 
Suited the rigour of the year ; 
So high his strain, so bold his lyre, 
So fraught with rays of Celtick fire, 
They almost weened each hum that past 
The spirit of the northern blast. 

The next was named, — the very sound 
Excited merriment around. 
But when the bard himself appeared. 
The ladies smiled, the courtiers sneered ; 
For "Buch a simple air and mien 
Before a court had never been. 
A clown he was, bred in the wild. 
And late from native moors exiled. 
In hopes his mellow mountain strain 
High favour from the great would gaia,. 
Poor wight ! he never weened how hard 
For poverty to earn regard ! 
.Dejection o'er his visage ran, 
His coat wag bare, his colour wan, 



Bight 11. WAKE. 

His forest doublet darned and torn, 
His shepherd plaid all rent and worn ; 
Yet dear the symbols to his eye, 
Memorials of a time gone by. 

The bard on Ettrick's mountain grees 
In Nature's bosom nursed had been. 
And oft had marked in forest lone 
Her beauties on her mountain throne; 
Had seen her deck the wild-wood tree,, 
And star with snowy gems the lea ; 
In loveliest colours paint the plain. 
And sow the moor with purple grain ; 
By golden mead and mountain sheer. 
Had viewed the Ettrick waving clear, 
Where shadowy flocks of purest snow 
Seemed grazing in a world below. 

Instead of Ocean's billowy pride, 
Where monsters play and navies .ride, 
Oft had he viewed, as morning rose, 
The bosom of the lonely Lowes, 
Plowed far by many a downy keel, 
Of wild-duck and of vagrant teal. 
Oft thrilled his heart at close of eren, 
To see the dappled vales of heaven, 
Witii many a mountain, moor, and trecj 
Asleep upon the Saint Mary j 
The pilot swan majestick wind, 
With all his cygnet fleet behind, 
So softly sail, and swiftly row, 
With sable oar aod silken prow. 



74 THE QUEEN'S tightii. 

Instead of war's unhallowed form, 
His eye had seen the thunder-storm 
Descend within the mountain's brim, 
And shroud him in its chambers grim ; 
Then from its bowels burst amain 
The sheeted flame ana sounding rain, 
And by the bolts in thunder borne, 
The heaven's own breast and mountain torn ; 
The wild roe from the forest driven ; 
The oaks of ages peeled and riven j 
Impending oceans whirl and boil, 
Convulsed by Nature's grand turmoil. 

Instead of arms or golden crest, 
His harp with mimick flowers was dr§st : 
Around, in graceful streamers, fell 
The briar-rose and the heather bell ; 
And there, his learning deep to prove^ 
Naturae Donum graved above. 
When o'er her mellow notes he ran, 
And his wild mountain chaunt began, 
Then first was noted in his eye, 
A gleam of native energy. 



OLD DAVID. 

THE TENTH BARD'S SONG. 

Old David rose ere it was day, 
And climbed old Wonfell's wizard brae ; 
Looked round, with visage grim and sour, 
O'er Ettrick woods and Eskdale-moor. 



sight 11. WAKE. 75 

An outlaw from the south he came, 
And Ludlow was his father's name ; 
His native land had used him ill, 
And Scotland bore him no good-will. 

As fixed he stood, in sullen scorn, 
Regardless of the streaks of morn. 
Old David spied, on Wonfell cone, 
A fairy band come riding on. 
A lovelier troop was never seen ; 
Their steeds were white, their doublets green, 
Their faces shone like opening inorn. 
And bloomed like roses on the thorn. 
At every flowing mane was hung 
A silver bell that lightly rung ; 
That sound, borne on the Mmteze away, 
Oft set the mountaineer to fray. 

Old David crept close in the heath, 
Scarce moved a limb, scarce drew a breath ; 
But as the tinkling sound came nigh. 
Old David's iieart beat wouderous high. 
He thought of riding on the wind j 
Of leaving hawk and hern behind j 
Of sailing lightly o'er the sea, 
In mussel shell, to Germany ; 
Of revel raids by dale and down j 
Of lighting torches at the moon ; 
Or through the sounding spheres to sing. 
Borne on the fiery meteor's wing ; 
Of dancing '-neath the moonlight sky 
Of sleeping in the dew-cup's eye. 



76 THE QUEEN'S night n 

And then he thought— O ! dread to tell 1 
Of tythes the fairies paid to hell ! 

Darid turned up a reverend eye, 
And fixed it on the morning sky ; 
He knew a mighty one lived there, 
That sometimes heard a warriour's prayer — ■ 
No word, save one, could David say j 
Old David had not learned to pray. 

Scarce will a Scotsman yet regard 
What David saw, and what he heard. 
He heard their horses snort and tread, 
And every word the riders said ; 
While green portmanteaus, long and low. 
Lay blended o'er each saddle bow. 
A lovely maiden rodebetween. 
Whom David judged the Fairy Queen ; 
But strange ! he heard her moans resound, 
And saw her feet with fetters bound. 

Fast spur they on through bush and brake , 
To Ettrick woods their course they take. 
Old David followed still in view, 
Till near the Lochilaw they drew ; 
There in a deep and wonderous dell. 
Where wandering sun-beam never fell., 
Where noon-tide breezes never blew 
From flowers to drink the morning devj 
There, underneath the sylvan shade. 
The fairies' spacious bower was made. 
Its rampart was the tangling sloe, 
The bending briar, and misletoe ; 



Bight II. WAKE. -J 

And o'er its roof, the crooked oak 
Waved wildly from the frowning rock. 

This wonderous bower, this haunted dell, 
The forest shepherd shunned as hell ! 
When sound of fairies' silver horn 
Came on the evening breezes borne, 
Homeward he fled, nor made a stand. 
Thinking the spirits hard at hand. 
But when he heard the eldrich swell 
Of giggling laugh and bridal bell, 
Or saw the riders troop along. 
His orisons were loud and strong. 
His household fare he yielded free 
Tojthis mysterious company. 
The fairest maid his cot within 
Resigned with awe and little din ; 
True he might weep, but nothing say, 
For none durst say the fairies nay. 

Old David hasted home that night, 
A wondering and a wearied wight. 
Seven sons he had, alert and keen. 
Had all in Border battles been ; 
Had wielded brand, and bent the bow, 
For those who sought their overthrow. 
Their hearts were true, their arms were strong. 
Their falchions keen, their arrows long ; 
The race of fairies they denied, — 
No fairies kept the English side. 

Our yeomen on their armour threw. 
Their brands of steel and bows of yew, 



78 THE aUEEN'S night n^ 

Long arrows at their backs they sling, 
Fledged from the Snowdon eagle's wing, 
And boun' away brisk as the wind, 
The sire before, the sons behind. 

That evening fell so sweetly still. 
So mild on lonely moor and hill, 
The little genii of the fell 
Forsook the purple heather-bell. 
And all their dripping beds of dew. 
In wind flower, thyme, and violet blue j 
Aloft their viewless looms they heave, 
And dew-webs round the helmets weavfc 
The waning moon her lustre threw 
Pale round her throne of softened blue j 
Her circuit, round the southland sky, 
Was' languid, low, and quickly by j 
Leaning on cloud so faint and fair, 
And cradled on the golden air ; 
Modest and pale as maiden bride, 
She sunk upon the trembling tide. 

What late in daylight proved a jest. 
Was now the doubt of every breast. 
That fairies were, was not disputed; 
But what they were was greatly doubted. 
Each argument was guarded well. 
With *' if," and " should," and " who can teli.'* 

" Sure He that made majestick man. 
And framed the world's stupendous plan j 
Who placed on high the steady pole. 
And sowed the stars that round it roll 



night 11. WAKE. 

And made that sky, so large and blue,*--^ 
Could surely make a fairy too." 

The sooth to say, each valiant core 
Knew feelings never felt before. 
Oft had they dared the midnight brake, 
Fearless of aught save bog and lake j 
But now the nod of sapling fir. 
The heath-cock's loud exulting whirr, 
The cry of hern from sedgy pool, 
Or airy bleeter's rolling howl. 
Came fraught with more dismaying dread 
Than warder's horn, or warriour's tread. 

Just as the gloom of midnight fell, 
They reached the fairies' lonely dell, 
heavens ! that dell was dark as death ! 
Perhaps the pit-fall yawned beneath ! 
Perhaps that lane that winded low, 
Led to a nether world of wo ! 
But stern necessity's control 
Resistless sways the human soul. 

The bows are bent, the tinders smoke 
W^'ith fire by sword struck from the rock, 
)ld David held the torch before ; 
3is right hand heaved a dread claymore, 
^hose Rippon edge be meant to try 
)n the first fairy met his eye. 
k.bove his head his brand was raised ; 
Lbove his head the taper blazed ; 
L sterner or a ghastlier sight, 
fe'er catered bower at dead of night. 



n 



80 THE QUEEN'S night h. 

Below each lifted arm was seen 
The barbed point of arrow keen. 
Which waited but the twang of bow 
To fly like lightning on the foe. 
Slow move they on, with steady eye, 
Resolved to conquer or to die. 

At length they spied a massive door, 
Deep in a nook, unseen before ; 
And by it slept, on wicker chair, \ 
A sprite of dreadful form and air. 
His grizzly beard flowed round Ids throat, 
Like shaggy hair of mountain goat j 
His open jaws and visage grim, 
His half-shut eye so deadly dim. 
Made David's blood to's bosom rush, 
And his gray hair his helmet brush. 
He squared, and made his falchion wheel 
Around his back from head to heel j 
Then, rising tiptoe, struck amain, 
Down fell the sleeper's head in twain j 
And springing blood, in veil of smoke, 
Whizzed high against the bending oak. 

'• By heaven !" said George, with jocund air, 
" Father, if all the fairies there 
Are of the same materials made, 
Let them beware the Rippon blade !" 
A ghastly smile was seen to play 
O'er David's visage, stern and gray j 
He hoped, and feared j but ne'er till then 
Knew whether he fought with sprites or men. 






uightn. WAKE. 81 

The massy door they next unlock, 
That oped to hall beneath the rock, 
[n which new wonders met the eye : 
The room was ample, rude, and high, 
The arches cavenied, dark, and torn. 
On Nature's rifted columns borne j 
Of moulding rude the embrazure, 
A.nd all the wild entablature j 
A.nd far o'er roof and architrave. 
The ivy's ringlets bend and wave. 
!n each abrupt recess was seen 
\ couch of heath and rushes green ; 
While every alcove's sombre hue, 
>V"as gemm'd with drops of midnight dew,^ 

Why stand our heroes still as deatli, 
Vor muscle move, nor heave a breath ? 
lee how the sire his torch has lowered, 
Vnd bends recumbent o'er his sword • 
The arcubalister has thrown 
lis threatening, thirsty arrows down ! 
?truck in one moment, all the band 
Entranced like moveless statues stand ! 
Enchantment sure arrests the spear, 
ind stints the warriour's bold career i 

List, list, what mellow angel-sound 
Distils from yonder gloom profound ! 
Tis not the note of gathering shell, 
)f fairy horn, nor silver bell ! 
*f o, 'tis the lute's mellifluous swell, 
vlixed with a maiden's voice so clear, 
The flitting bata flock round to hear ! 



82 THE QUEEN'S night n. 

So wildly o'er the vault it rung, 
That song, if in the green-wood sung, 
Would draw the fays of wood and plain 
To kiss the lips that poured the strain. 
The lofty pine would listening lean ; 
The wild birch wave her tresses green ; 
And larks, that rose the dawn to greet, 
Drop lifeless at the singer's feet. 
The air was old, the measure slow. 
The words were plain, but words of wo. 

Soft died the strain ; the warriours stand, 
Nor rested lance, nor lifted brand. 
But listening bend, in hopes again 
To hear that sweetly plaintive strain. 
'Tis gone ! and each uplifts his eye, 
As waked from dream of ecstasy. 

Why stoops young Owen's gilded crest ? 
Why heaves those groans from Owen's breast ? 
While kinsmen' s eyes in raptures speak. 
Why steals the tear o'er Owen's cheek ? 
That melting song, that song of pain. 
Was sung to Owen's favourite strain j 
The words were new, but that sweet Jay 
Had Owen heard in happier day. 



Fast press they on ; in close-set row. 
Winded the lab'rinth far and low. 
Till, in the cave's extreraest bound. 
Arrayed in sea-green silk, they found 
Five beauteous dames, all fair and youDg ; 
And she, who late so sweetly sung, 



I 



i 



night II. WAKE. g3 

Sat leaning o'er a silver lute, 

Pale with despair, with terrour mute. 

When back her auburn locks she threw, 
And raised her eyes so lovely blue, 
'Twas like the woodland rose in dew ! 
That look was soft as morning flower, 
And mild as sun-beam through the shower. 
Old David gazed, and weened the while, 
He saw a suflering angel smile ; 
Weened he had heard a seraph sing. 
And sounds of a celestial string. 
But when young Owen met her view. 
She shrieked, and to his bosom flew : 
For, oft before, in Moodlaw bowers, 
They two had passed the evening hours. 
She was the loveliest mountain maid, 
That e'er by grove or riv'let strayed j 
Old Raeburn's child, the fairest flower 
That ever bloomed in Eskdale-moor. 
'Twas she the Sire that morn had seen, 
And judged to be the Fairy Queen ; 
Twas she who framed the artless lay, 
That stopt the warriours on their way. 

Close to her lover's breast she clung, 
And round his neck enraptured hung : 

O my dear Owen ! haste and tell. 
What caused you dare this lonely dell, 
And seek your maid, at midnight still, 
Deep in tlie bowels of the hill p 
Here in this dark and drear abode-, 
By all deserted but my God, 



84 THE QUEEN'S nigUt 

Must I have reft the life he gave, 
Or lived in shame a villain's slave. 
I was, at midnight's murkest hour, 
Stole from my father's stately tower, 
And never thought again to view 
The sun or sky's ethereal blue j 
But since the first of Border-men 
Has found me in this dismal den, 
1 to his arms for shelter fly, 
With him to live, or with him die." 

How glowed brave Owen's manly face, 
While in that lady's kind embrace ! 
Warm tears of joy his utterance staid ; 
" O, my loved Ann !" was all he said. 
Though well they loved, her high estate 
Caused Owen aye aloof to wait ; 
And watch her bower, beside the rill, 
When twilight rocked the breezes still, 
And waked the musick of the grove 
To hymn the vesper song of love. 
Then underneath the green-wood bough, 
Oft had they breathed the tender vow. 

With Ann of Raebum here tliey found 
The flowers of all the border round j 
From whom the strangest tale they hear, 
That e'er astounded warriour's ear. 
'Twould make even Superstition blush, 
And all her tales of spirits hush. 

That night the spoilers ranged the vale,, 
By Dryhope towers, and Meggat-dale. 



uigut ir. WAKE. 85 

Ah ! little trowed the fraudful train, 
They ne'er should see their wealth again ! 
Their lemans, and their mighty store, 
For which they nightly toils had bore, 
Full twenty Autumn moons and more ! 
They little deemed, when morning dawned, 
To meet the deadly Rippon brand ; 
And only find, at their return. 
In their loved cave an early urn. 

Ill suits it simple bard to tell 
Of bloody work that there befel. 
He lists not deeds of death to sing. 
Of splintered spear, and twanging string, 
Of piercing arrow's purpled wing. 
How falchions flash, and helmets ring, 
Not one of all that prowling band, 
So long the terrour of the land, 
Not one escaped their deeds to tell ; 
All in the winding lab'rinth fell. 
Tiie spoil was from the cave conveyed. 
Where in a heap the dead were laid : 
The outer cave our yeomen fill, 
And left them in the hollow hill. 

But still that dell, and bourn beneath, 
The forest shepherd dreads as death. 
Not tliere at evening dares he stray, 
Though love impatient points the way j 
Though throbs his heart the maid to see, 
That'd waiting by the trysting tree. 



86 THE QUEEN'S mghtn 

Even the old Sire, so reverend gray, 
Ere turns the scale of night and day, 
Oft breathes the short and ardent prayer, 
That heaven may guard his footsteps there : 
His eyes, mean time, so dim with dread, 
Scarce ken the turf his foot must tread. 
For still 'tis told, and still believed, 
That there the spirits were deceived. 
And maidens from their grasp retrieved 
That this they still preserve in mind. 
And watch, when sighs the midnight wind, 
To wreck their rage on humankind. 

Old David, for this doughty raid> 
Was keeper of the forest made j 
A trooper he of gallant fame. 
And first of all the Laidlaw name. 

E'er since, in Ettrick's glens so greec, 
Spirits, though there, are seldom seen ; 
And fears of elf, and fairy raid. 
Have like a morning dream decayed. 
The bare-foot maid, of rosy hue. 
Dares from the heath-flower brush the dew, 
To meet her love in moon-light still, 
By flowery den or tinkling rill ; 
And well dares she till midniglit stay, 
Among the coils of fragrant liay. 

True, some weak shepherds, gone astray, 
As fell the dusk of Hallow-day, 



Bight n. WAKE* 87 

Have heard the tinkling sound aloof, 
And gentle tread of horse's hoof; 
And flying swifter than liie wind, 
Left all their scattered flocks behind. 

True, when the evening tales are told, 
When winter nights are dark and cold. 
The boy dares not to barn repair 
Alone, to say his evening prayer ; 
jVor dare the maiden ope the door, 
Unless her lover walk before ; 
Then well can counterfeit the fright, 
If star-beam on the water light ; 
And to his breast in terrour cling, 
For such a dread and dangerous thing. 

O, Ettrick ! shelter of my youth ! 
Thou sweetest glen of all the south ! 
Thy fairy tales, and songs of yore, 
Shall never fire my bosom more. 
Thy winding glades, and mountains wild^ 
The scenes that pleased me when a child, 
Each verdant vale, and flowery lea, 
Still in my midnight dreams I see ; 
And waking oft, I sigh for thee ; 
Tliy hapless bard, though forced to roam 
Afar from thee without a home. 
Still there his glowing breast shall turn, 
Till thy green bosom fold his urn. 
Then, underneath thy mountain stone, 
Shall sleep unnoticed and unknown. 



88 THE QUEEN'S night u. 



When ceased the shepherd's simple lay, 
With careless mien he lounged away. 
No bow he deigned, nor anxious looked 
How the gay throng their minstrel brooked. 
No doubt within his bosom grew, 
That to his skill the prize was due. 
Well might he hope, for while he sung, 
Louder and longer plaudits rung ; 
And when he ceased his numbers wild, 
Fair Royalty approved and smiled. 
Long had the bard, with hopes elate, 
Sung to the low, the gay, the great ; 
And once had dared, at flattery's call, 
To tune his harp in Branxholm hall j 
But nor his notes of soothing sound, 
Nor zealous word of bard renowned, 
Might those persuade, that worth could be 
Inherent in such mean degree. 
But when the smile of Sovereign fair 
Attested genuine nature there, 
Throbbed high with rapture every breast, 
And all his merit stood confest. 

Different the next the herald named ; 
Warriour he was, in battle maimed, 
■\\''hen Lennox, on the downs of Kyle 
O'erthrew Maconnel and Argyle. 
Unable more the sword to wield 
With dark Clan Alpine in the field, 
Or rouse the dun deer from her den 
With fierce Macfarlane and his men ; 



liight ir. WAKE. 80 

He strove to earn a minstrel name, 
And fondly nursed the sacred flame. 
Warm was his heart, and bold his strain j 
"^V'ild fancies in his moody brain 
Gambolled, unbridled, and unbound, 
Lured by a shade, decoyed by sound. 

In tender age, when mind was free, 
As standing by his nurse's knee. 
He heard a tale, so passing strange, 
Of injured spirit's cool revenge, 
It chilled his heart with blasting dread, 
Which never more that bosom fled. 
When passion's flush had fled his eye, 
And gray liairs told that youth was by, 
Still quaked his heart at bush or stone, 
As wandering in the gloom alone. 

Where foxes roam, and eagles rave, 
And dark woods round Ben-Lomond wave, 
Once on a night, a night of dread ! 
He held convention with the dead j 
Brought warnings to the house of deallx, 
And tidings from a world beneath. 

Loud blew the blast— the evening came, 
The way was long, the minstrel lame ; 
Tiie mountain's side was dern with oak, 
Darkened with pine, and ribbed with rock;^ 
Blue billows round its base were driven, 
Its top was steeped in waves of heaven. 
The wood, the wind, the billow's moaiii, 
All spoke in language of tbeir own, 



00 THE QUEEN'S night n. 

But too well to our minstrel known. 

Wearied, bewildered, in amaze, 

Hymning in heart the Virgin's praise, 

A cross he framed, of birchen bough, 

And 'neath that cross he laid him low ; 

Hid by the heath, and Highland plaid, 

His old harp in his bosom laid. 

O ! when the winds that wandered by, 

Sung on her breast their lullaby. 

How thrilled the tones his bosom througli. 

And deeper, holier, poured his vow ! 

No sleep was his — he raised liis eye, 
To note if dangerous place was nigh. 
There columned rocks, abrupt and rude, 
Hung o'er his gateless solitude : 
The muffled sloe, and tangling brier, 
Precluded freak or entrance here ; 
But yonder oped a little path, 
O'ershadowed, deep, and dark as death. 
Trembling, he groped around his lair 
For mountain ash, but none was there. 
Teeming with forms, his terrour grew j 
Heedful he watched, for well he knew, 
That in that dark and devious dell, 
Some lingering ghost or sprite must dwell : 
So as he trowed, so it befel. 

The stars were wrapt in curtain gray, 
The blast of midnight died away ; 
'Twas just the hour of solemn dread, 
When walk the spirits of the dead. 



night 11. WAKE. 91 

Rustled the leaves with gentle motion, 
Groaned his chilled soul in deep devotion, 
Tiie lake fowl's wake was heard no more 5 
The wave forgot to brush the shore ; 
Hushed was the bleat, on moor and hill j 
The wandering clouds of heaven stood slilL 

What heart could bear, what eye could mCet^ 
The spirits in their lone retreat ! 
Rustled again the darksome dell ; 
Straight on the minstrel's vision fell 
A trembling and unwonted light, 
That showed the phantoms to his sight. 

Came first a slender female form, 
Pale as the moon in Winter storm j 
A babe of sweet simplicity 
Clung to her breast as pale as she, 
And aye she sung its lullaby. 
That cradle-song of the phantem^s child, 
O ! but it was soothing, holy, and wild I 
But, O ! that song can ill be sung. 
By Lowland bard, or Lowland tongue. 



THE SPECTRE S CRADLE-SON« 

Hush, my bonny babe ! hush, and be still t 
Thy mother's arms shall shield thee from ill. 
Far have I borne thee, in sorrow and pain. 
To drink the breeze of the world again. 
The dew shall moisten thy brow so meek, 
Aod the breeze of midnight fan thy ciieek, 



92 THE QUEEN'S night n 

And soon shall we rest in the bow of the hill ; 
Hush, my bonny babe ! hush and be still ! 
For thee have I travailed, in weakness and wo, 
The world above and tiie world below. 
My heart was soft, and it fell in the snare ; 
Thy father was cruel, but thou wert fair. 
I sinned, I sorrowed, I died for thee j 
gmile, my bonny babe ! smile on me ! 

See yon thick clouds of murky hue ; 
Yon star that peeps from its window blue ; 
Above yon clouds, that wander far, 
Away, above yon little star, 
There's a home of peace that shall soon be thine, 
And there shalt thou see thy Father and mine. 
The flowers of the world shall bud and decay, 
The trees of the forest be weeded away ; 
But there shalt tfwu bloom for ever and aye. 
The time will come, I shall follow thee ; 
But long, long hence that time shall be ; 
Smile now, my bonny babe ! smile on me ! 



. Slow moved she on with dignity, 
Kor bush, nor brake, or rock, nor tree, 
Her footsteps staid — o'er cliff so bold, 
Where not the wren its foot could hold, 
Stately she wandered, firm and free. 
Singing her softened lullaby. 

Three naked phantoms next came on j 
They beckoned low, past, and were gone. 



night ii. WAKE. 93 

Then came a troop of sheeted dead, 
With shade of chieftain at their head. 
And with our bard, in brake forlorn, 
Held converse till the break of morn. 
Their ghostly rites, their looks, their mould, 
Or words to man, he never told j 
Butmnch he learned of mystery. 
Of that was past, and that should be. 
Thenceforth he troubles oft divined, 
And scarcely held his perfect mind j 
Yet still the song, admired when young. 
He loved, and that in Court he sung. 



MACCREGOR. 

THE ELEVENTH BARD'« SONG. 

" Macgregor, Macgregor, remember our foemen ; 
The moon rises broad from the brow of Ben- Lo- 
mond ; 
The clans are impatient, and chide thy delay j 
Arise ! let us bound to Glen-Lyon away," — 

Stern scowled the Macgregor, then silent and 
sullen. 
He turned his red eye to the braes of Strathfillan; 
" Go, Malcolm, to sleep, let the clans be dis- 
missed ; 
The Campbells this night for Macgregor must 
rest." — 

10 



94 THE aUEEN'S night u. 

" Macgregor, Macgregor, our scouts have been 

flying, 
Three days, round the hills of M'Nab and Glen- 

Lyon ; 
or riding and running such tidings they bear, 
We must meet them at home else they'll quickly 

be here.'" — 

" The Campbell may come, as his promises bind him, 
And haughty M'Nab, with his giants behind him ; 
This night I am bound to relinquish the fray, 
And do what it freezes my vitals to say. 
Forgive me, dear brother, this horrour of mind ; 
Thou knowest in the strife 1 was never behind, 
Not ever receded a foot i'roui the van. 
Or blenched at the ire or the prowess of man. 
But I've sworn by the cross, by my God, and by 

all! 
A.n oath which I cannot, and dare not recal, — 
Ere the shadows of midnight fall east from the 

pile. 
To meet with a spii-it this night in Glen-Gyle. 

Last night, in my chamber, all thoughtful and 

lone, 
I called to remembrance some deeds I had done, 
When entered a lady, with visage so wan. 
And looks? such as never were fastened on man. 
I knew her, O brother ' I knew her too well ! 
Of that once fair dame such a tale I could tell, 
As would thrill thy bold heart ; but how long she 

remained, 
So racked was my spirit, my bosom so pained, 



night u. WAKE. 95 

I knew not — Init ages seemed short to the while. 
Though proffer the Highlands, nay, all the green 

isle, 
With length of existence no man can enjoy, 
The same to endure, the dread proffer I'd fly ! 
The thrice threatened pangs of last night to forego, 
Macgregor would dive to the mansions below. 
Despairing and mad, to futurity blind. 
The present to shun, and some respite to find, 
I swore, ere the sliadow fell east from the pile. 
To meet her alone by the brook of Glen-Gyle. 

She told me, and turned my chilled heart to a 

stone, 
The glory and name of Macgregor was gone: 
That the pine, which for ages had shed a bright 

halo. 
Afar on the mountains of Highland Glen-Falo, 
Should wither and fall ere the turn of yon moon, 
Smit through by the canker of hated Colquhoun ; 
That a feast on Macgregors each day should be 

common. 
For years, to the eagles of Lennox and Lomond. 

A parting embrace, in one moment, she gave ; 
Her breath was a furnace, her bosom the grave ! 
Then flitting elusive, she said, with a frown, 
" The mighty Macgregor shall yet be my own !" — 

" Macgregor, thy fancies are wild as the wind ; 
The dreams of the night have disordered thy mind. 



96 THE QUEEN'S night n. 

Come, buckle thy panoply — march to the field, — 
See, brother, how hacked are thy helmet and 

shield ! 
Ay, that was M'Nab, in the height of his pride, 
When the lions of Dochart stood firm by his side. 
This night the proud chief his presumption shall 

rue; 
Rise, brother, these chinks in his heart-blood will 

glue: 
Thy fantasies frightful shall Hit on the wing, 
When loud with thy bugle Glen- Lyon shall 

ring." — 

Like glimpse of the mocn through the storm of 

the night, 
Macgregor's red eye shed one sparkle of light : 
It faded — it darkened — he shuddered — he sighed,— 
"iVo ! not for the universe !" low he replied. 

Away went Macgregor, but went not alone j 
To watch the dread rendezvous, Malcolm has gone. 
They oared the broad Lomond, so still and serene, 
And deep in her bosom, how awful the scene ! 
O'er mountains inverted the blue waters curled, 
And rocked them on skies of a far nether world. 

All silent they went, foi- the time was approach- 
ing; 
The moon the blue zenith already was touching ; 
No foot was abroad on the forest or hill, 
No sound but the lullaby sung by the rill : 



night n. WAKE. 97 

Young Malcolm at distance, couched, trembling 

the while, 
Macgregor stood lone by the brook o£ Glen-Gyle. 

Few minutes had passed, ere they spied on the 
stream, 
A skiff sailing light, where a lady did seem ; 
Her sail was the web ol" the gossamer's loom. 
The glow-worm her wakelight, the rainbow her 

boom ; 
A dim rayiess beam was her prow and her mast, 
Like wold-fire, at midnight, that glares on the 

waste. 
Though rough was the river with rock and cas- 
cade. 
No torrent, no rock, her velocity staid ; 
She wimpled the water to weather and lee. 
And heaved as if borns on the waves of the sea. 
Mute nature was roused in t'.ie bounds of the glen ; 
The wild deer of Gairtney abandoned his den, 
Fled panting away, over river and isle, 
Nor once turned his eye to the brook of Glen- 
Gyle. 

The fox fled in terrour ; the eagle awoke, 
As slun)bering he dozed in the shelve of the rock ; 
Astonished, to hide in the moon-beam he flew. 
And screwed the night-heaven till lost in the blue. 

Young Malcolm beheld the pale lady approach, 
The chieftain salute her, and shrink from her 
touch. 



98 THF QUEEN'S night ir. 

He saw the MatiArPt'O-" ^c»eel down on the plain, 
As be();gin<» for soiiietiiing he couid not ohtiin ; 
She raised him iiidijnant, d'^rided his slay, 
Then bore Ijim ou booird, ?el her sail, and away. 

Though fast the red bark down the river did 

glide, 
Yet taster ran MaVolm adown by its side ; 
" Maegregor ! Maciregor !" he bitterly ci ied j 
" Macgregor ! Macgregor I" the echoes replied. 
He struck at the lady, but, strange though it seem, 
His sword only fell on the rocks and the stream ; 
But the groans from the boat, that ascended 

amain, 
Were groans from a bosom in horrour and pain. — 
They reached the dark lake, and bore lightly 

away ; 
Macgregor is vanished for ever and aye ! 



Abrupt as glance of morning son. 
The bard of Lomond's lay is done. 
Loves not the swain, from path of dew, 
At morn the golden orb to view, 
Rise broad and yellow from the main, 
While scarce a shadow lines the plain ; 
Well kn»ws he then the gathering cloud 
Shall all his noon tide glories shroud. 
Like smile of morn before the rain. 
Appeared the minstrel's mounting strain. 
As easy inexperienced hind, 
Who sees not coming rains and wind, 



night If. WAKE. 

The beacon of the dawning hour, 
JVor notes the bliok before the shower, 
Astonished, mid his open grain, 
Sees round him pour the sudden rain, — 
So looked the still attentive throng, 
When closed at once Macfarlane's song. 

Time was it, — when he 'gan to tell 
Of spectre stern, and barge of hell ; 
Loud, and more loud, the minstrel sung ; 
Loud, and more loud, the chords he rung ; 
Wild grew his looks, for well he knew 
The scene was dread, the tale was true ; 
And ere Loch-Ketturine's wave was won, 
Faltered his voice, his breath was done. 
He raised his brown hand to Iiis brow, 
To veil his eye's enraptured glow ; 
Flung back his locks of silver gray, 
Lifted his crutch, and limped away. 

The Bard of Clyde stepped next in view ; 
Fair was his form, his harp was new ; 
His eyes were bright, his manner gay, 
But plain his garb, and plain his lay. 



EARL WALTER. 

THE TWELFTH BARD'S SONG. 

♦' What makes Earl Walter pace the wood 
In the wan light of the moon ? 

Why altered is Earl AValter's mood 
So strangely, and so soon ?" 



100 THE QUEEN'S night ir. 

" Ah ! he is fallen to fight a knight 

Whom man could never tame, 
To-morrow, in his Sovereign's sight, 

Or bear perpetual shame." — 

*' Go warn the Clyde, go warn the Ayr, 

Go warn them suddenly, 
If none will fight for Earl Walter, 

Some one may fight for me." — 

"' Now hold your tongue, my daughter dear 

Now hold your tongue for shame ! 
For never shall my son Walter 

Disgrace his father's name. 

" Shall ladies tell, and minstrels sing, 

How lord of Scottish blood 
By proxy fought before his king ? 

No, never ! by the rood !" — 

Earl Walter rose ere it was day, 

For battle made him boun' j 
Fiarl Walter mounted his bonny gray, 

And rode to Stirling town. 

Old Hamilton from the tower came down, 

" Go saddle a steed for me. 
And I'll away to Stirling town, 

This deadly bout to see. 

" Mine eye is dim, my locks are gray. 
My cheek is furred and wan 3 



night II. WAKE. 101 

Ah, me ! but I have seen the day 
I feared not single man ! 

" Bring me my steed," said Hamilton ; 

" Darcie his vaunts may rue ; 
Whoever slays my only son 

Must fight the father too. 

" Whoever fights my noble son 

May foin the best he can ; 
Whoever braves Wat Hamilton, 

Shall know he braves a man." — 

And there was riding in belt and brand, 

And runaing o'er holt and In ; 
For all the lords of fair Scotla:id 

Came there the fight to see. 

And squire, and groom, and baron bold, 

Trooping in thousands came, 
And many a hind, and warriour old, 

And many a lovely dame. 

When good Earl Walter rode the ring, 

Upon his mettled gray. 
There was none so ready as our good king 

To bid that Earl good day. 

For one so gallant and so young, 

Oh, many a heart beat high ; 
And no fair eye in all th<^ throng, 

Nor rosy cheek, was dry. 



102 THE QUEEN'S night ii. 

But up then spoke the king's daughter, 

Fair Margaret was her name, — 
"If we should lose brave Earl Walter, 

My sire is sore to blame. 

*' Forbid the fight, my liege, I pray, 

Upon my bended knee." — 
" Daughter, I'm loth to say you nay ; 

It cannot, must not be." — 

"Proclaim it round," the princess cried, 

" Proclaim it sud Jeiily ; 
If none will fight for Earl Walter, 

Some one may fight for me, 

*' In Douglas-dale I have a tower, 

With many a holm and hill, 
I'll give them all, and ten times more, 

To him will Darcie kill."— 

But op then spoke old Hamilton, 

And doffed his bonnet blue ; 
In his sunk eye the tear drop shone, 

And his gray locks o'er it flew : — 

*' Cease, cease, thou lovely royal maid, 

Small cause hast thou for pain j 
Wat Hamilton shall have no aid 

'Gainst lord of France or Spain. 

" I love my boy ; but should he fly, 
Or other for him fight, 



Bight II. WAKE. 103 

Heaven grant that first his parent's eye 
May "et in endless night !" — 

Young; Margaret blushed, her weeping staid, 

And quietly looked on : 
Now Margaret was the fairest maid 

On whom the daylight shone. 

Her eye was like the star of love, 
That blinks across the evening dun j 

The locks that waved that eye above, 
Like light clouds curling round the sun. 

When Darcie entered in the ring, 

A shudder round the circle flew : 
Like men who from a serpent spring, 

They startled at the view. 

His look so fierce, his crest so high, 

His belts and bands of gold. 
And the glances of his charger's eye 

Were dreadful to behold. 

But when he saw Earl Walter's face, 

So rosy and so young, 
He frowned, and sneered with haughty grace, 

And round disdainful flung. 

"What ! dost thou turn ray skill to sport, 

And break thy jests on me P 
Think 'st thou I sought the Scottish court, 

To play Avith boys like thee ? 



104 THE QUEEN'S night ii. 

" Fond youth, go home and learn to ride ! 

For pity get thee gone ; 
Tilt with the girls and boys of Clyde, 

And boast of what thou'st done. 

"If Darcie's spear but touch thy breast, 

It flieg thy body through ; 
If Darcie's sword come o'er thy crest, 

It cleaves tliy heart ia two." — 

" I came not here to vaunt, Darcie , 

I came not here to scold j 
It ill befits a knight like thee 

Such proud discourse to hold. 

" To-morrow boast, amid the throngs 

Of deeds which thou hast done ; 
To day restrain thy saucy toiigue j 

Rude blusterer, come on !" — 

Rip went the spurs in either steed, 

To different posts they sprung ; 
Quivered each spear o'er charger's head ; 

Forward each warriour hung. 

The horn blew once— the horu blew twice — 
Oh ! many a heart beat high ! 

'Twas silence all ! — the horn blew thrice- 
Dazzled was every eye. 

Hast thou not seen, from heaven, in ire, 
The eagle swift descend ? 



niffh*: u V. a(vE. 105 

Hast '.''ou r.oi sc^n •' e shee''.ed fire 
The lowering uarkness rend i-* 

Not faster glide? the eajl.? ^ay 

Adown the yielding v\ud ; 
Not faster bears the bolt tivvay, 

Leaving the storm behind j 

Than flew the warriours on their way, 

With full suspended breath , 
Than flew the warriours on their way 

Across the field of death. 

So fierce the shock, so loud the clang, 

The gleams of ilre were seen ; 
The rocks and towers of Stirling rang, 

And the red blood fell between. 

Earl Walter's gray was borne aside, 

Lord Darcie's black held on. 
" Oh ! ever alack," fair Margaret cried, 

The brave Earl Walter's gone !" 
"Oh ! ever alack," the king replied, 
That ever the deed was done "' — 

Earl Walter's broken corslet doffed, 

He turned with lightened eye ; 
His glancing spear he raised aloft, 

And seemed to threat the sky. 

Lord Darcie's spear, aimed at his breast, 
He parried dext'rously ; 



106 THE QUEEN'S night w. 

Then caught him rudely by the wrist, 
Saying, " Warriour, come with me !" — 

Lord Darcie drew, Lord Darcie threw ; 

But threw and drew in vainj 
Lord Darcie drew. Lord Darcie threw, 

And spurred his black amain. 

Down came Lord Darcie, casque and brand 

Loud rattled on tlie clay ; 
Down cauie Earl Walter, hand in hand, 

And head to head they lay. 

Lord Darcie's steed turned to his lord, 

And, trembling, stood behind ; 
But off Earl Walter's dapple scoured 

Far fleeter than the wind ; 
Nor stop, nor stay, nor gate, nor ford, 

Could make her look behind. 

O'er holt, o'er hill, o'er slope and slack, 

She sought her native stall ; 
She liked not Darcie's doughty black, 

Nor Darcie's spear at all. 

*' Even go thy ways," Earl Walter cried, 

" Since better may not be ; 
I'll trust my life with weapon tried, 

But never again with thee. 

' ' Rise up, Lord Darcie, sey thy brand, 
And fling thy mail away ; 



night II. WAKE. 107 

For foot to foot, and hand to hand, 
We'll now decide the day." — 

So said, so done ; their helms they flung, 

Their doublets linked and sheen j 
And hawberk, armlet, cuirass, rung 

Prouiiscuous on the green. 

'* Now, Darcie ! now thy dreaded name, 

That oft has chilled a foe, 
Thy hard-earned honours, and thy fame, 

Depend on every blow. 

" Sharp be thine eye, and firm thy hand ; 

Thy heart unmoved remain ; 
For never was the Scottish brand 

Upreared, and reared in vain." — 

* Now do thy best, young Hamilton, 

Rewarded shalt thou be ; 
Thy king, thy country, and thy kin, 

All, all depend on tiiee ! 

" Thy father's heart yearns for his son. 

The ladies' cheeks grow wan ; 
Wat Hamilton ! Wat Hamilton ! 

Now prove thyself a man !" — 

" What makes Lord Darcie shift and daace 

So fast around the plain ? 
What makes Lard Darcie strike and lance^ 

As passion fired his brain p 



108 THE QUEEN'S nightn. 

" Lay on, lay on," said Hamilton ; 

*' Thou bear'st thee boist'rously ; 
If thou shouldst pelt till day be done, 

Thy weapon I defy. 

" What makes Lord Darcie shift and wear 

So fast around the plain ? 
Why is Lord Darcie's hollands fair 

All stripped with crimson grain p" — 

The first blow that Earl Walter made 
He clove his bearded chin, 
Beshrew thy heart," Lord Darcie said, 
** Ye sharply do begin !" 

The next blow that Earl Walter made. 

Quite through the gare it ran, 
*' Now, by my faith," Lord Darcie said, 

" That's stricken like a man." 

The third blow that Earl Walter made, 

It scooped his lordly side. 
" Now, by ray troth," Lord Darcie said, 

"Thy marks are ill to bide." 

Lord Darcie's sword he forced a-hight, 

And tripped him on the plain, 
" O, ever alack," then cried the knight, 

" I ne'er shall rise again !" 

When good Earl Walter saw he grew 
So pale, and lay so low, 



night ir. WAKE. 109 

Away his brace of swords he threw, 
And raised his fainting foe. 

Then rang the list with shouts of joy, 

Loud and more loud they grew, 
And many a bonnet to the sky 

And many a coif they threw. 

The tear stood in the father's eye, — 

He wiped his aged brow, — 
*' Give me thy hand, my gallant boy ! 

I knew thee not till now. 

" My liege, my king, this is my soa 

Whom I present to thee ; 
Nor would I change Wat Hamilton 

For all the lads I see !" — 

" Welcome, ray friend and warrlour old ! 

This gallant son of thine 
Is much too good for baron bold, 

He must be son of mine ! 

" For he shall wed my daughter dear, 

The flower of fair Scotland ; 
The badge of honour he shall wear. 

And sit at my right hand. 

" And he shall have the lands of Kyle^ 

And royal bounds of Clyde j 
And he shall have all Arran's isle 

To dower his royal bride." — 

n 



110 THE QUEEN'S night 

The princess smiled, the princess flushed, 

O, but her heart was fain ! 
And aye her cheek of beauty blushed 

Like rose-bud in the rain. 

From this the Hamiltons of Clyde 

Their royal lineage draw j 
And thus was won the fairest brid« 

That Scotland ever saw ! 



When ceased the lay, the plaudits rung, 
Not for the bard, or song he sung ; 
But every eye with pleasure shone, 
And cast its smiles on one alone, — 
That one was princely Hamilton ! 
And well the gallant chief approved 
1 he bard who sung of sire beloved, 
And pleased were all the court to see 
The minstrel hailed so courteously. 

Ag lin is every courtier's gaze 
Speaking suspense, and deep amaze ; 
The bard was stately, dark and stern,- 
'Twas Drummond, from the moors of Ern. 
Tall was his frame, his forehead high, 
Still and mysterious Avas his eye ; 
His look was like a winter day, 
When storms and winds have sunk away. 

Well versed was he in holy lore ; 
In cloistered dome the cowi he wore : 



night II. WAKE. Ill 

But, wearied with the eternal strain 
Of formal breviats, cold and vain, 
He wooed, in depth of Highland dale, 
The silver spring and mountain gale. 

In gray Glen-Ample's forest deep, 
Hid from the rains and tempest's sweep, 
III bosom of an aged wood 
His solitary cottage stood. 
Its walls were bastioned, dark, and dern. 
Dark was its roof of filmot fern, 
And dark the vista down the linn. 
But all was love and peace within. 
Religion, man's first friend and best, 
Was in that home a constant guest ; 
There, sweetly, every morn and even. 
Warm orisons were poured to heaven : 
And evesy cliflfGlen-Ample knew. 
And green wood on her banks that grew, 
In answer to his bounding string, 
Had learned the hymns of heaven to sing ^ 
With many a song of mystick lore, 
Rude as when sung in days of yore. 

His were the snowy flocks, that strayed 
Adown Glen-Airtney's forest glade ; 
And his the goat, and chesnut hind. 
Where proud Ben-Vorlich cleaves the wind .; 
There oft, when suns of summer shone, 
The bard would sit, and muse alone, 
Of innocence, expelled by man ; 
Of nature's fair and wenderous plap ; 



112 THE QUEEN'S night n. 

Of the eternal throne sublime, 

Of visions seen in ancient time, 

Till his rapt soul would leave her home 

In visionary worlds to roam. 

Then would the mists that wandered by 

Seem hovering spirits to his eye : 

Then would the breeze's whistling sweep, 

Soft lulling in the cavern deep, 

Seem to the enthusiast's dreaming ear 

The words of spirits whispering near. 

Loathed his firm soul the measured chime 
And florid films of modern rhyme ; 
No other lays became his tongue 
But those his rude foiefathers sung. 
And when, by wandering minstrel warned^ 
1'he mandate of his Queen he learned. 
So much he prized the ancient strain, 
High Itopes had he the prize togain. 
>Vith modest, yet majeslick mien, 
He tuned his harp of solemn strain : 
O list the tale, ye fair and young, 
A lay so strange was never sung ! 

KILMENY. 

THE THIRTEENTH BARD's SONG- 

Bonny Kiimeny gaed up the glen j 
But it wasna to meet Duneira's men, 
Nor the rosy monk of the isle to see. 
For Kiimeny was pure as pure could be. 



night II. WAKE. 113 

It was only to hear the yorlin sing, 

And pu' tlie cress flower round the springs 

The scarlet hypp and the hindberrye. 

And the nut that hang frae the hazel treej 

For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. 

But lang may lier luinuy look o'er the wa', 

And lang may she seek i' the green-wood shavv; 

Lang the laird of Duneira blame, 

And lang, lang greet or Kilmeny come hame ! 

When many a day had come and fled, 
When grief grew calm, and hope was dead, 
When mass for Kilmeuy's soul had been sung, 
^Vhen the bedesman had prayed, and the dead- 
bell rung, 
Fjate, late in a gloamin, when all was still, 
When the fringe was red on the westlin hill, 
Tlie wood was sere, the moon i' the wane, 
The reek o' the cot hung over the plain, 
Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane ; 
W^hen the iiigle lov/ed with an eiry leme, 
]jate, late in the gloaming Kilmeny came hame { 

" Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been ? 
Lang Iiae we sought baith holt and den j 
By linn, by ford, and gi^en wood tree, 
Yet you are halesome and fair to see. 
Where gr.t you tljat joup o' the lilly scheeu p 
That bonny snood of the birk sae green ? 
And these roses, the fairest that ever were seen ' 
Kilijjc'iiy, Kihueny, where have you been."" — 



114 THE QUEEN'S night n. 

Kilmeny looked up witli a lovely grace, 
But nae smile was seen on Kilnieny's face : 
As still was her look, and as still was her ee, 
As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea, 
Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea. 
For Kilmeny had been she knew not where, 
And Kilmeny had seen what she could not de- 
clare ; 
Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew, 
Where the rain never fell, and the wind never 

blew. 
But it seemed as the harp of the sky had rung, 
And the airs of heaven played round her tongue. 
When she spake of the lovely forms she had seen, 
And a land wheie sin had never beenj 
A land of love, aad a land of light, 
Withouten sun, or moon, or night : 
W^here the river swa'd a living stream, 
And the light a pure celestial beam : 
The land of vision it would seem, 
A still, an everlasting dream. 

In yon green-wood there is a waik, 
And in that waik there is a wene. 

And in that wene there is a oaaike, 
That neither has flesh, blood, nor bane ; 

And down in yon green-wood he walks his lane. 

In that green wene Kilmeny lay, 
Her bosom happed wi' the flowerits gay ; 
But the air was soft and the silence deep. 
And bonny Kilmeny i'ell sound asleep. 



night n. WAKE. 115 

She kend nae mair, nor opened her ee, 
Till waked by the hymns of a far countrye. 

She 'wakened on couch of the silk sae slim, 
All striped wi' the bars of the rainbow's rim; 
And lovely beings round were rife, 
Who erst had travelled mortal life ; 
And aye they smiled, and 'gan to speer, 
" What spirit has brought this mortal here?"-^ 

*' li'Mig have I journeyed the world wide," 
A meek and reverend fere replied ; 
" Baith night and day I have watched the fair, 
Eident a thousand years and mair. 
Yes, I have watched o'er ilk degree, 
Wherever blooms femenitye ; 
But sinless virgin, free of stain 
In mind and body, fand I uane. 
Never, since the banquet of time, 
Found I viiwin in her prime, 
Till late tills bonny maiden I saw 
As spotless as the morning snaw : 
Full twenty years she has lived as free 
As the spirits that sojourn this countrye. 
I have brought her away frae the snares of meUj 
That sin or death she never may ken." — ■ 

They clasped her waiste and her hands sae fair, 
They kissed her cheek, and they kemed her hair, 
And round came many a blooming fere, 
Saying, " Bonny Kilmeny, ye' re welcome here ! 



116 THE QUEEN'S night n. 

Women are freed of the littand scorn : 

O, bJessed be the day Kihncny was born ! 

Now shall the land of the spirits see, 

IVow shall it ken what a woman may be ! 

Many a lang year in sorrow and pain, 

Many a lang year thro' the world we've gane, 

Commissioned to watch fair womankind. 

For its they who ntirice th' immortal mind. 

We have watched their steps as tlie dawning shone. 

And deep in the green-wood walks alone j 

By lilly bower and silken bed, 

The viewless tears have o'er them shed ; 

Have soothed tlieir ardent minds to sleep. 

Or left the couch of love to weep. 

We • ave seen ! we have seen ! but the time must 

come. 
And the ang'sls will weep at the day of doom 

" O, would the fairect of mortal kind 
Aye keep the holy truths in mind, 
That kindred spirits their motions see, 
Who watch their ways Avith anxious ee, 
And grieve for the guilt of humanitye ! 
O, sweet to heaven the maiden's prayer. 
And the sigh that heaves a bosom sae fair ! 
And dear to heaven the words of truth, 
And the praise of virtue frae beauty's mouth ! 
And dear to the viewless forms of air, 
The minds that kyth as the body fair ! 

" O, bonny Kilmeny ! free frae stain, 
If ever you seek the world again, 
That world of sin, of sorrow, and fear, 
Q, tell of the joys that are waiting here ! 



night II. WAKEv 117 

And tell of the signs you shall shortly aee ; 
Of the times that are now, and the tiraee that 
Bhallbe."- 

They lifted KiLmeny, they led her away^ 
And she walked in the liglit of a sunless day : 
The sky was a dome of crystal bright, 
The fountain of vision, and fountain of light : 
The emerald fields were of dazzling glow, 
And the flowers of everlasting blow. 
Then deep in the stream her body they laid. 
That her youth and beauty never might fade ; 
And they smiled on heaven, when they saw her lie 
In the stream of life that wandered by. 
And she heard a song, she heard it sung, 
She kend not where ; but sae sweetly it rung, 
It fell on her ear like a dream of the morn : 
*' O ! blest be the day Kilmeny was bom I 
Now shall the land of the spirits see, 
Now shall it ken what a woman may be ! 
The sun that shines on the world sae briglit, 
A borrowed gleid frae the fountain of light } 
And the moon that sleeks the sky sae dun, 
Like a gouden bow, cr a beamless sui>. 
Shall wear away, and be seen nae mair, 
And the angels shall miss them travelling tlrs ah 
But lang, lang after baith night and day, 
When the sun and the world have elyed away ■ 
When the sinner has gane to his waesome doon', 
Kibaeny shall smile in eternal bloom !"— 
12 



118 THE QUEEN'S night u. 

They bore her away she wist not how, 
For she felt not arm nor rest below j 
But so swift they wained her through the light, 
'Twas like the motion of sound or sight ; 
They seemed to split the gales of air, 
And yet nor gale nor breeze was there. 
Unnumbered groves below them grew, 
They came, they past, and backward flew, 
Like floods of blossoms gliding on, 
lu moment seen, in moment gone. 
O, never vales to mortal view 
Appeared like those o'er which they flew { 
That land to human spirits given. 
The lowermost vales of the storied heaven ; 
From thence they can view the world below, 
And heaven's blue gates with sapphires glow. 
More gloiy yet unmeet to know. 

They bore her far to a mountain green, 
To see what mortal never had seen ; 
And tl-.ey seated her high on a purple sward. 
And bade her heed what she saw and heard, 
And note the changes the spirits wrought. 
For now she lived in the land of thought. 
She looked, and she saw no sun nor skies. 
But a crystal dome of a thousand dyes. 
She looked, and she saw nae land aright, 
But an endless whirl of glory and light. 
And radiant beings went and came 
Far swifter than wind, or the linked flame. 
She hid her een frae the dazzling view j 
She looked again and tiie scene was new. 



iiiihi II. WAKE. iia 

She saw a sun on a summer sky. 
And clouds of amber sailing by j 
A lovely land beneath her lay, 
And that land had glens and mountains gray f 
And that land had vallies and hoary piles, 
And marled seas, and a thousand isles : 
Its fields were speckled, its forests green, 
And its lakes were all of the dazzling sheen. 
Like raagick mirrors, where slumbering lay 
The sun and the sky and the cloudlet gray j 
Which heaved and trembled and gently swung, 
On every shore they seemed to be hung ; 
For they were seen on their downward plain 
A thousand times and a thousand again j 
In winding lake and placid firth, 
Little peaceful heavens in the bosom of earth. 

Kilmeny sighed and seemed to grieve. 
For she found her heart to that land did cleave; 
She saw the corn wave on the vale. 
She saw the deer run down the dale ; 
She saw the plaid and the broad claynaore. 
And the brows that the badge of freedom bore ; 
And she thought she had seen the land before. 

She saw a lady sit on a throne, 
The fairest that ever the sun shone on ! 
A lion licked her hand of milk, 
And she held him in a leish of silk ; 
And a Icifu' maiden stood at her knee, 
With a silver wand and melting ee ; 
Her sovereign shield till love stole in, 
And poisoned all the fount within. 



m THE QUEEN'S nfght u 

Tlien a gruff" untoward bedeman came, 
And hundil the lion on his dame j 
And the guardian maid wi' the dauntless ee, 
She dropped a tear, and left her knee j 
And she saw till the queen frae the lion fled, 
Till the bonniest flower of the world lay dead. 
A coffin was set on a distant plain, 
And she saw the red blood fall like rain : 
Then bonny Rilmeny's heart grew sair, 
And she turned away, and could look nae mair. 

Then the gruff grim carle girned amain. 
And tliey trampled him down, but he rose again ; 
And he baited the lion to deeds of weir, 
Till he lapped the blood to the kingdom dear j 
And weening his head was danger-preef. 
When crowned with the rose and clover leaf, 
He gowled at the carle and chased him away, 
To feed wi' the deer on the mountain gray. 
He gowled at the carle, and he gecked at heavQ?, 
But his mark was set, and his arles given. 
Kilraeny a while her een witlidrew ; 
She looked again, and the scene was new. 

She saw below her fair unfurled 
One half of all tlie glowing world, 
Where oceans rolled, and rivers ran, 
To bound the aims of sinful man. 
She saw a people, fierce and fell, 
Burst frae their bounds like fiends of hell ; 
There lilies grew, and the eagle flew. 
And she herked on her ravening crew, 



night n. WAKE. 12J 

Till the cities and towers were wrapt in a blaze, 
And the thunder it roared o'er the lands and thf 

seas. 
The widows they wailed, and the red blood ran. 
And she threat'ned an end to the race of man : 
She never lened, nor stood in awe. 
Till claught by the lion's deadly paw. 
Oh ! then the eagles swinked for life, 
And brain?elled up a mortal strife j 
But flew she north, or flew she south. 
She met wi' the gowl of the lion^s mouth. 

With a mooted wing and waefu' maen, 
The eagle sought her eiry again ; 
But lang may she cour in her bloody nest, 
And lang, lang sleek lier wounded breast, 
Before she sey another flight, 
To play wi' the norland lion's might. 

But to sing the sights Kilraeny saw, 
So far surpassing nature's law, 
The singer's voice wad sink away. 
And the string of his harp wad cease to play.. 
But she saw till the sorrows of man were by, 
And all was love and harmony ; 
Till the stars of heaven fell calmly away, 
liike the flakes of snow on a winter day. 

Then Kilmeny begged again to see 
The friends she had left in her own country, 
To tell of the place where she had been, 
Aod the glories that lay in the laod unseen >, 



122 THE QUEEN'S mgU n. 

To war* the living maidens fair, 
The loved of heaven, the spirits' care, 
That all whose minds unmeled remain 
Shall bloom in beauty when time is gane. 

With distant musick, soft and deep, 
Tiiey lulled Kilmeny sound asleep ; 
And when she awakened, she lay her lane, 
All happed with flowers in the green-wood wenc. 
When seven lang years had come and fled j 
When grief was calm, and hope was dead ; 
When scarce was remembered Kilmeny's name^ 
Late, late in a gloarain Kilmeny came hame ! 

And O, her beauty was fair to see, 
But still and steadfast was her ee ! 
Such beauty bard may never declare, 
For there was no pride nor passion there ; 
And the soft desire of maidens een 
In that mild face could never be seen. 
Her seymar was the lilly flower, 
And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower j 
And her voice like the distant melodye. 
That floats along the twilight sea. 
But she loved to raike the lanely glen, 
And keeped afar frae the haunts of men j 
Her holy hymns unheard to sing, 
To suck the flowers, and drink the spring. 
But wherever her peaceful form appeared. 
The wild beasts of the hill were cheered j 
The wolf played blythly round the field, 
The lordly byson lowed aod kneeled j 



night II. WAKE. 123 

The dun deer wooed with manner bland, 

And cowered aneath her lilly hand. 

And when at even the woodlands rung, 

When hymns of other worlds she sung, 

In ecstacy of sweet devotion, 

O, then the glen was all in motion. 

The wild beasts of the forest came, 

Broke from their bughts and faiilds the tame, 

And goved around, charmed and amazed j 

Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed. 

And murmured and looked with anxious pain 

For something the mystery to explain. 

The buzzard came with the thristle-cock ; 

The corby left her houf in the rock ; 

The blackbird alang wi' the eagle flew j 

The hind came tripping o'er the dew ; 

The wolf and the kid their raike began, 

And the tod, and the lamb, and the leveret ran j 

The hawk and the hern attour them hung. 

And the merl aod the mavis forhooyed their 

young; 
And all in a peaceful ring were hurled : 
It was like an eve in a sinless world I 

When a month and a day had come and gane, 
Kilmeny sought the greenwood wene ; 
There laid her down on the leaves sae green, 
And Kilnaeny on earth was never mair seen. 
But O, the words that fell from hei- mouth, 
Were words of wonder, and words of truth ! 
But all the land were in fear and dread, 
For they keodna whether she was living or dead. 



124 THE QUEEN'S night n. 

It wasnaher hame, and she couldna remain ; 
She left this world of sorrow and pain, 
And returned to the land of thought again. 



He ceased ; and all with kind concern 
Blest in their hearts the bard of Em. 

By that the chill and piercing air, 
The pallid hue of ladies fair, 
The hidden yawn, and drumbly eye, 
Loudly announced the morning nigh. 
JBeckoned the Queen with courteous smile, 
And breathless silence gazed the while : — 

" I hold it best, my lords," she said, 
" For knight, for dame, and lovely mai(^, 
At wassail, wake, or revel hall, 
To part before the senses pall. 
Sweet though the draught of pleasure be, 
Why should we drain it to the lee ? 
Though here the minstrel-s fancy play, 
Light as the breeze of summer-day ; 
Though there in solemn cadence flowj 
Smooth as the night-wind o'er the snow j 
.Now bound away with rolling sweep, 
Like tempest o'er the raving deep ; 
High on the morning's golden skreen, 
Or easement of t!ie rainbow lean ; — 
Such beauties were in vain prolonged. 
The soul is cloyed, the minstrel wrongei, 



oiglitn. WAKE. 12i> 

" Loud in the morning-blast, and chill, 
The snow-drift speeds along the hill ; 
Let ladies of the. storm beware, 
And lords of ladies take a care ; 
From lanes and alleys guard them well, 
Where lurking ghost or sprite may dwell ^ 
But most avoid the dazzling flare, 
And spirit of the morning air ; 
Hide from their eyes that hideous form, 
The ruthless angel of the storm. 
I wish, for every gallant's sake, 
That Hone may rue our royal wake : 
I wish wliat most his heart approves, 
And every lady what she loves, — 
Sweet be her sleep on bed of down, 
And pleasing be her dreams till noon. 
And when you hear the bugles strain, 
I hope to see you all again." — 

Whether the Queen to fear inclined. 
Or spoke to cheer the minstrel's mind, 
Certes, she spoke with meaning leer. 
And ladies smiled her words to hear. 
Vet, though the dawn of morning shone, 
No lady from that night-wake gone, 
Not even the Queen, durst sleep alone. 
And scarce had Sleep, with throb and sigli. 
O'er breast of snow, and moistened eye, 
Outspread his shadowy canopy. 
When every fervid female mind, 
<^r sailed with witches on the wind, 
Drank, unobserved, the potent wine-, 
Or floated oa the foamy brine. 



126 THE QUEEN'S WAKE, night «. 

Some strove the land of thought to win, 

Impelled by hope, witJistood by sin ; 

And some with angry spirit stood 

By lonely stream, or pathless wood. 

And oft was heard the broken sigh. 

The half-formed prayer, and smothered cry j 

So much the minds of old and young 

Were moved by what the minstrels sung. 

What Lady Gordon did or said 

Could not be learned from lady's maid, 

And Huntley swore and shook his head. 

But she and all her buskin train 

Appeared not at the wake again. 



IXD OF SIGHT THE SECOJfC, 



qUEEN'S WAKE. 



:?^IGHT THE THIRD. 



'!!£.£ 



QUEEN'S WAKE. 



NIGHT THE THIBD. 



1 HE storm had ceased to shroud the hill ^ 
The morning's breath was pure and chill ; 
And when the sun rose from the main, 
No eye the glory could sustain. 
The icicles so dazzling bright; 
The spreading wold so smooth and white j 
The cloudless sky, the air so sheen, 
That roes on Pentland's top were seen ; 
And Grampian mountains, frowning high, 
Seemed froze amid the northern sky. 
The frame was braced, the mind set free 
To feat, or brisk hilarity. 

The sun, far on his southern throne.^ 
Glowed ia stern majesty alone ; 



^ 



130 THE QUEEN'S night 

'Twas like the loved, the toilsome day, 

That dawns on mountains west away, 

When the furred Indian hunter hastes 

Far up his Apalachian wastes, 

To range the savage haunts, and dare 

In his dark home the sullen bear. 

And ere that noonday-sun bad shone 

Right on the banks of Duddingston, 

Heavens ! what a scene of noise and glee, 

And busy brisk anxiety ! 

There age and youth their pastime take 

On the smooth ice that chained the lake. 

The Highland chief, the Border knight, 

In waving plumes, and baldricks bright, 

Join in the bloodless friendly war, 

The sounding-stone to hurl afar. 

The hair-breadth aim, the plaudits due, 

The rap, the shout, the ardour grew, 

Till drowsy day her curtain drew. 

The youth, on cramps of polished steel, 
Joined in the race, the curve, the wheel ; 
With arms outstretched, and foot aside, 
Like lightning o'er the lake they glide ; 
And eastward far their impulse keep, 
Like angels journeying o'er the deep. 

W^hen night her spangled flag unfurled 
Wide o'er a wan and sheeted world, 
In keen debate homeward they hie, 
For well they knew the wake was nigh. 



night III. WAKE. 131 

By mountain slieer, and column tall, 
How solemn was that evening fall ! 
The air was calm, the stars were bright, 
The hoar frost flightered down the night ; 
But oft the list'ning groups stood still, 
For spirits talked along the hill. 
The fairy tribes had gone to won 
In southland climes beneath the sun ; 
By shady woods, and waters sheen, 
And vales of everlasting green, 
To sing of Scotia's woodlands wild, 
Where human face had never smiled. 
The ghost had left the haunted yew. 
The wayward bogle fled the clough, 
The darksome pool of crisp and foam 
Was now no more the kelpie's home : 
But polar spirits sure had spread 
O'er hills which native fays had fled j 
For all along from clifl" and tree, 
On Arthur's hill, and Salisbury, 
Came voices floating down the air 
From viewless shades that lingered there : 
The words were fraught with mystery j 
Voices of men they could not be. 
Youths turned their faces to the sky, 
With beating heart, and bended eye j 
Old chieftains walked with hastened tread, 
Loath that their hearts should bow to dread. 
They feared the spirits of the hill 
To sinful Scotland boded ill. 

Orion up his baldrick drew, 
The evening star was still in view, 



132 THE QUEEN'S night 

Scarce had the Pleiades cleared the mam, 
Or Charles reyoked his golden wain, 
When from the palace-turret? rang 
The bugle's note with warning clang ; 
Each tower, each spire, in musick spake, 
*' Haste, nobles, to Queen Mary's wake.'-' 
The blooming maid ran to bedight, 
In spangled lace, and robe of white, 
That graceful emblem of her youth. 
Of guileless heart, and maiden truth. 
The matron decked her candid frame 
In moony broach, and silk of flame j 
And every Earl and Baron bold 
Sparkled in clasp and loop of gold. 
*Twas the last night of hope and fear, 
That bards <ioUld sing, or Sovereign hear , 
And just ere rose the Christmas sun, 
The envied prize was l<ist and won. 

The bard that night who foremost came 
Was not enrolled, nor known his name ; 
A youth he was of manly mold, 
Gentle as lamb, as lion bold ; 
But his fair face, and forehead high 
Glowed with intrusive modesty. 

'Twas said by bank of southland stream 
Glided his youth in soothing dream j 
The harp he loved, and wont to stray 
Far to the wilds and woods away, 
And sing to brooks that gurgled by 
Of maidea's form and maiden's eye j, 



night lu, WAKE. 133 

That, when this dream of youth was past, 
Deep in the shade his harp he cast j 
In husy life his cares beguiled, 
His heart was true, and fortune smiled. 
But when the royal wake began, 
Joyful he came the foren:ost man, 
To see the matchle<^j bard approved, 
And list the strains he once had lo^^ed. 

T wo nights had passed— the bards had sung,— 
Queen Mary's harp from ceiling hung. 
On which was graved her lovely mold. 
Beset with crowns and flowers of gold j 
And many a gem of dazzling dye 
Glowed OP that prize to minstrel's eye. 

The youth had heard each iniiistrel's strain, 
And, fearing northern bard would gain. 
To try his youthful skill was nioved, 
Not for himself, but friends lie loved. 



MARY SCOTT. 

THE FOURTEENTH BARn'S SONG. 

Lord Pringle's steed neighs in the stall. 
His panoply is irksome grown. 

His plumed helm hangs in the hall. 
His broad claymore is berry brown. 

No more his bugle's evening peal 
Bids vassal arm and yeoman ride, 
13 



134 "^TE QUEEN'S night HI. 

To d- i-ale, 



Instead o. 

Of warrioui 
Is heard the lute'h 

Within the halls ol . 

Sick lies his heart without reliei , 
'Tis love tliat breeds the warrioui 

For daughter of a froward chief, 
A freebooter, his mortal foe. 

But O, that maiden's form of grace, 
And eye of love, to him were dear ! 

The smile that dimpled on her face 
\^'as deadlier than the Border spear. 

That form was not the poplar's stem, 
That smile the dawning's purple line ; 

Nor was that eye the dazzling gem 
That glows adown the Indian mine. 

But would you praise the poplar pale, 
Or morn in wreath of roses drest ; 

The fairest flower that woos the vale, 
Or down that clothes the solan's breast j 

A thousand times beyond, above, 

What rapt enthusiast ever saw ; 
Compare them to that mould of love, — 
. Young Mary Scott of Tushilaw I 



night HI. WAKE. 135 

The war-flame glows on Ettrick pen, 
Bounds forth the foray swift as wind, 

And Tushilaw and all his men 
Have left their homes afar behind. 

O lady, lady, learn thy c.eed, 

And mark the wa+.h-dog's boist'rous din ; 
The abbot comes with book and bead, 

O haste and. let the father in i 

And, la'iy, mark his locks so gray, 
HAs beard so long, and colour wan ; 

Cy he has mourned for many a day. 
And sorrowed o'er the sins of man ! 

And yet so stately is his mien, 

His step so firm, and breast so bold ; 

His brawny leg and form, I ween. 
Are wonderous for a man so old. 

Short was his greeting, short and low. 
His blessing short as prayer could be ; 

But oft he sighed, and boded wo, 
And spoke of sin and misery. 

To shrift, to shrift, now ladies all, 
Your prayers and Ave Marias learn ; 

Haste, trembling, to the vesper hall, 
For ah ! the priest is dark and stern. 

Short was the task of lady old. 
Short as confession well could be ; 



136 THE QUEEN'S nightn 

The abbot's orisons were cold, 
His absolutions frar' ^nd free. 

Go, Mary Scott, t -^ek. 

Lay open to tb ^ ; 

And let the tea- 

Thy sins are 

For many A lover the 

And many yet lie sict 
Young Gilmanscleuch and . 

And Pringle, lord of Torwc 

Tell every wish thy bosom near, 
No other sin, dear maid, hast thou ; 

And well the abbot loves to hear 
Thy plights of love and simple vow. 

" Why stays my Mary Scott so long ? 

What guilt can youth and beauty wail? 
Of fervent thought and passion strong,. 

Heavens ! what a sickening tedious tale !'•' 

O lady, cease ; the maiden's mind, 
Though pure as morning's cloudless beam, 

A crime in every wish can find, 
In noon -tide glance, and midnight dream. 

To woman's heart when fair and free, 
Her sins seem great and manifold j 

When sunk in guilt and misery. 
No crime can then her soul behold. 



night in. WAKE. 1^7 

'Tis sweet to see the opening flower 

Spread its fair bosom to the sun ; 
'Tis sweet to hear in venial bower 

The thrush's earliest hymn begun : 

But sweeter far the prayer that wrings 
The tear from maiden's beaming eye j 

And sweeter far the hymn she sings 
In grateful holy ecstasy. 

The mass was said, but cold and dry 
That mass to heaven the fatlier sent ; 

With book, and bead, and rosary, 
The abbot to his chamber went. 

The watch-dog rests with folded eye 

Beneath the porteti's gray festoon j 
The wildered Ettrick wanders by, 

Loud murmuring to the careless moon. 

The warder lists with hope and dread 

Far distant shout of fray begun j 
The cricket tunes his tiny reed, 

And harps behind the embers duo. 

Why does the warder bend his head, 
And silent stand the casement near? 

The cricket stops his little reed, 
The sound of gentle steps to hear. 

O many a wight from Border brake 
Has reaved the drowsy warden round ; 



138 THE aUEEN'S night lu 

And many a daughter lain awake, 
When parents trowed them sleeping sound. 

The abbot's bed is well down spread, 

The abbot's bed is soft and fair, 
The abbot's bed is cold as lead — 

For why ? — the abbot is not there. 

Was that the blast of bugle, borne 
Far on the night-wind, wavering shrill ? 

'Tis nothing but the shepherd's horn 
That keeps the watch on Cacra hill. 

What means the warder's answering note P 
The moon is west, 'tis near the day; 

I thought I heard the warriours shout, 
'Tis time the abbot were away ! 

The bittern mounts the morning air, 
And rings the sky witli quivering croon ; 

The watch-dog sallies from his lair, 
And bays the wind and setting moon. 

'Tis not the breeze, nor bittera's wail, 
Has roused the guarder from his den ; 

Along the bank, in belt and mail. 
Comes Tushilaw and all his men. 

The abbot, from his casement, saw 

The forest chieftain's proud array ; 
He heard the voice of Tushilaw — 

The abbot's heart grew cold as clay I 



night .11. WAKE. 13^ 

" Haste, maidens, call my lady fair, 
That room may for my warriours be j 

And bid my daughter come and share 
The cup of joy with them and me. 

" Say we have fought and won the fray, 
Have lowered our haughty foeman's pride j 

And we have driven the richest prey 
That ever lowed by Ettrick side."— 

To hear a tale (^ vanquished foes 

His lady came right cheerfully; 
And Mary Scott, like morning rose, 

Stood blushing at her father's knee. 

Fast flowed the warriour's ruthless tale, 
And aye the red cup passed between j 

But Mary Scott grew lily pale, 
And trembled like the aspin green. 

"' Now, lady, give me welcome cheer, 
Queen of the border thou shalt be ; 

For I have brought thee gold and gear, 
And humbled haughty Torwoodlee. 

*' I beat his yeomen in the glen, 

I loosed his horses from the stall, 
I slew the blood-hound in his den, 

And souglit the chief through tower and hgll. 

*' 'Tis said in hamlet mean and dark 
iS'ightly he lies with leman dear j 



140 THE QUEEN'S night m| 

O, I would give ten thousand mark, 
To see his head upon my spear ! 

" Go, maidens, every mat be spread 
On heather, haum, or roegrass heap, 

And make for me the scarlet bed, 
For I have need of rest and sleep." — 

"Nay, my good lord, make other choice, 

In that you cannot rest to-day ; 
For there in peaceful slumber lies 

A holy abbot, old and gray." 

The chieftain's cheek to crimson grfw, 
Dropt from his hand the rosy wine — 

"An abbot ! curse the canting crew ! 
An abbot sleep in couch of mine ! 

'* Now, lady, as my soul shall thrive, 

I'd rather trust my child and thee 
With my two greatest foes alive. 

The king of Scots and Torweodlee. 

" The lazy hoard of Melrose vale 
Has brought ray life, my all to stake : 

O, lady ! I have heard a tale. 
The thought o't makes my heart to ache ! 

" €k), warriours, hale the villain forth, 

Bring not his loathful form to me j 
The gate stands open to the north. 

The rope hangs o'er the gallows tree. 



Bight III. WAKE. 141 

" There shall the burning breeze of noon 
Rock the old sensual sluggard blind j 

There let him swing, till sun and moon 
Have three times left the world behind."— 

O abbot, abbot, say thy prayers, 

With orisons load every breath ; 
The forest trooper's on the stairs. 

To drag thee to a shameful death. 

O abbot, abbot, quit thy bed, 

111 armed art thou to meet the strife; 

Haste, don thy beard, and quoif thy head, 
And guard the door for death or life. 

Thy arm is firm, thy heart is stout. 
Yet thou can&tjneither fight nor flee ; 

But beauty stands thy guard without, 
Yes, beauty weeps and pleads for thee. 

Proud, ruthless man, by vengeance driveo, 

Regardless hears a brother plead j 
Regardless sees the brand of heaven 

Red quivering o'er his guilty head : 

But once let woman's soothing tongue 

Implore his help or clemency, 
Around him let her arms be flung, 

Or at his feet her bended knee; 

The world's a shadow ! vengeance sleeps ! 
The ciiild of reason stands revealed— 
14 



142 THE QUEEN'S night m, 

When beauty pleads, when woman weeps, 
He is not man who scorns to yield. 

Stern Tiishilaw is gone to sleep, 
Laughing at woman's dread of sin ; 

But first he bade his warriours keep 
All robbers oat, and abbots in. 

The abbot from his casement high 
Looked out to see the peep of day ; 

The scene that met the abbot's eye 
Filled him with wonder and dismay 

'Twas not the dews of dawning mild, 
The mountain's lines of silver gray, 

Nor yet tlie Ettrick's windings wild, 
By belted holm and bosky brae j 

Nor moorland Ranklebum, that raved 
By covert, clough, and greenwood shaw 

Nor dappled flag of day, that waved 
In streamers pale from Gilmans-law : 

But many a doubted ox thei'c lay 

At rest upon the castle lea ; . 
And there he saw his gallant gray, 

And ail the steeds of Torwoodlee. 

*' Bcshrew the wont !" the abbot said, 
" The charge runs high for lodging here; 

JThe guard is deep, the path way-laid, 
My homilies shall cost me dear. * 



aight III. WAKE. 143 

" Come weel, come wo, with dauntless core 

I'll kneel, and con my breviary j 
If Tushilaw is versed in lore, 

'Twill be an awkward game with me." — 

Now Tushilaw he waked and slept, 

And dreamed and thought till noontide hour j 
But aye this query upmost kept, 

" What seeks the abbot in my tower?'* 

Stern Tushilaw came down the stair 

With doubtful and indignant eye, 
And found the holy man at prayer. 

With book, and cross, and rosary. 

" To book, to book, thou reaver red, 

Of absolution thou hast need ; 
The sword of heaven hangs o'er thy head, 

Death is thy doom, and hell thy meed !"— 

" I'll take my chance, thou priest of sin, 

Thy absolutions I disdain ; 
But I will noose thy bearded chin, 

If thus thou talkest to me again. 

" Declare thy business, and thy name, 
Or short the route to thee is given !"-»- 

" The abbot I of Coldinghame, 
My errand is the cause of heaven."-* 

" That shalt thou prove ere we two part j 
Some robber thou, or royal spy : 



144 THE QUEEN'S night m, 

But, villain, I will search thy heart, 
And chain thee in the deep to lie ! 

•' Hence with thy rubbish, best and ban, 
Whinyards to keep the weak in awe ; 

The scorn of heaven, the shame of man-*- 
No books nor beads for Tushilaw !"— 

" O ! lost to mercy, faith, and love ! 

Thy bolts and chains are naught to me ; 
I'll call an angel from above, 

That soon will set the pris'ner free." — 

Bold Tushilaw, o'er strone and steep, 

Pursues the roe and dusky deer j 
The abbot lies in dungeon deep. 

The maidens wail, the matrons fear. 

The sweetest flower on Ettrick shaw 
Bends its fair form o'er grated keep ; 

Young Mary Scott of Tushilaw 

Sleeps but to sigh, and wakes to weep. 

Bold Tushilaw, with horn and hound, 
Pursues the deer o'er holt and lea j 

And rides and rules the Border round, 
From Philiphaugh to Gilnockye. 

His page rode down by Melrose fair. 
His page rode down by Coldinghanjei 

But not a priest was missing there. 
Nor abbot, friar, no monk of name. 



sight III; WAKE. 14S 

The evening came ; it was the last 
The abbot in this world should see j 

•The bonds are firin, the bolts are fast, 
No angel comes to set him free. 

yes, at the stillest hour of night 

Softly unfolds the irmi door ;. 
Beamed through the gloom unwonted light, 

That light a beauteous angel bore. 

Fair was the form that o'er him hung, 
And fair the hands that set him free ; 

The trembling whispers of her tongue 
Softer than seraph's melody. 

The abbot's soul was all on flame, 
Wild transport through his bosom ran ; 

For never angel's airy frame 
Was half so sweet to mortal man ! 

Why walks young Mary Scott so late, 

In veil and cloak of cramasye ? 
The porter opens wide the gate, 

His bonnet moves, and bends his knee. 

Long may the wondering porter wait, 

Before the lady form return j 
" Speed, abbot, speed, nor halt nor bate«- 

Nor look thou back to Rankleburn !'* 

The day arrives, the ladies plead 
In vaio for yon mysterious wight y 



146 THE QUEEN'S night m. 

For Tushilaw his doom decreed, 
Were he an abbot, lord, or knight. 

The chieftain called his warriours stout, 
And ranged them round the gallows tre^ 

Then bade them bring the abbot out, 
The fate of fraud that all might see. 

The men return of sense bereft, 

Falter their tongues, their eye balls glare j 
The door was locked, the fetters left — 

All close ! the abbot was not there ! 

The wondering warriours bow to God^ 

And matins to the virgin hum ; 
But Tushilaw he gloomed and strode, 

And (Talked into the castle dumb. 

But to the Virgin's sacred name 

The vow was paid in many a cell ; 
And many a rich oblation came, 

For that amazing miracle. 

Lord Pringle walked his glens alone, 

Nor flock nor lowing herd he saw j 
But even the king upon the throne 

Quaked at the name of Tushilaw. 

liord Pringle's heart was all on flame, 

Nor peace nor joy his bosom knew, 
'Twas for the kindest, sweetest dame, 

That ever brushed the Forest dew. 



night in. WAKE. 147 

Gone is one month with smile and sigh, 
With dream by night and wish by day;. 

A second came with moistened eye j 
Another came and passed away. 

Why is the flower of yonder pile 

Bending its stem to court decay. 
And Mary Scott's benignant smile 

Like sun-beam in a winter day ? 

Sometimes her colour's like the rose^ 

Sometimes 'tis like the lily pale ; 
The flower that in the forest grows 

Is fallen before the summer gale.. 

A mother's fostering breast is warm, 
And dark her doubts of love I ween i 

For why ? — she felt its early harm — 
A mother's eye is sharp and keen ! 

'Tis done ! the woman staads revealed ? 

Stern Tu^ilaw is waked to see ; 
The bearded priest so well concealed. 

Was Pringle, lord of Torwoodlee ! 

Oh never was the thunder's jar. 

The red tornado's wasting wing, 
Nor ail the elemental war, 

Like fury of the Border king. 

He laughed aloud—his falchion eyed — 
A laugh of burning vengeance borne ?«- 



148 THE QUEEN'S night m. 

" Does thus the coward trow," he cried, 
" To hold his conqueror's power to scorn ! 

" Thinks Tushilaw of maids or wives, 

Or such a thing as Torwoodlee ! 
Had Mary Scott a thousand lives, 

These lives were all too few for me I 

" Ere midnight, in the secret cave, 

This sword shall pierce her bosom's core, 

Though I go childless to my grave, 
And rue the deed for evermore ! 

" O had I lulled the imp to rest 
When first she lisped her name to me. 

Or pierced her little guileless breast 
When smiling on her nurse's knee !"•<*- 

*' Just is your vengeance, my good lord, 
'Tis just and right our daughter die j 

For sharper than a foeman's sword 
Is family shame and injury. 

" But trust the ruthless deed to roe ; 

I have a vial potent, good ; 
Unmeet that all the Scotts should see 

A daughter's corse embalmed in blood 

• ' Unmeet her gallant kinsmen know 

The guilt of one so fair aud young; 
Na cup should to her mem'ry flow. 

No requiena o'er her grave be buo^: 



iiight iir. WAKE. 149 

*' My potent draught has erst proved true 
Beneath my own and husband's eye ; 

Trust me, ere falls the morning dew, 
In dreamless sleep shall Mary lie !"— 

** Even go thy way, thy words are true, 

I knew thy dauntless soul before j 
But list — if thou deceivest me too. 

Thou hast a head ! I say no more."-- 

Stern Tushilaw strode o'er the ley. 
And, wondering, by the twilight saw 

A crystal tear drop from his eye. 
The first e'er shed by Tushilaw ! 

O grievous are the bonds of steel. 
And blasted hope 'tis hard to prove; 

More grievous far it is to feel 
Ingratitude from those we love. 

" What brings my lady mother here, 
Pale as the morning shower and cold ? 

Jn her dark eye why stands the tear ? 
Why in her hand a cup of gold p"-* 

^' My Mary, thou art ill at rest, 

Fervid and feverish is thy blood ; 
Still yearns o'er thee thy mother's breast, 

Take this, my child, 'tis for thy good !"—- 

O sad, sad was young Mary's plight ! 
She took the cup— no word she spake ; 



ISO THE QUEEN'S night ui, 

i 

She had even wished that very night 
To sleep, and never more to wake. 

She took the cup — she drank it dry, 
Then pillowed soft her beauteous head, 

And calmly watched her mother's eye j 
But O that eye was hard to read ! 

Her moistened eyes, so mild and meek, 
Soon sunk their auburn fringe beneath j 

The ringlets on her damask clieek 

Heaved gentler with her stealing breath ! 

She turned her face unto the wall, 

Her colour changed to pallid clay j 
Long ere the dews began to fall. 

The flower of Ettrick lifeless lay ! 

Why underneath her winding sheet 
Does broidered silk her form enfold p 

Why is cold Mary's buskiued feet 

All laced with belts and bands of gold p 

" What boots to me these robes so gay ? j 

To wear them now no child have 1 ! 1 

They should have graced her bridal day, 
Now they must in the church-yard lie ! 

*' I thought to see ray daughter ride, 

In golden gear and cramasye, 
To Mary's fane, tlif; loveliest bride 

E'er t« the Virgin bent the knee. 



night III. WAKE. 

*' JN^ow ? may by her funeral wain 
Ride silent o'er the mountain gray : 

Her revel hall, the glo6my fane ; 
Her bridal bed, the cheerlesfs clay !"•— 

Why that rich snood with plume and lace 
Round Maiy's lifeless temples drawn f 

Why is the napkin o'er her face, 
A fragment of the lily lawn ? 

*' My Mary has another home ; 

And far, far though her journey he. 
When she to Paradise shall come, 

Then will my child remember me !"— ^ 

O many a flower was round her spread, 
And many a pearl and diamond brighlj 

And many a window round her head 
Shed on her form a bootless light ! 

liord Pringle sat on Maygill brae, 

Pondering on war and vengeance meet; 

The Cadan toiled in narrow way. 
The Tweed rolled far beneath his feet. 

Not Tweed, by gulf and whirlpool mazed, 
Through dark wood-glen, by him was seen; 

For still his thought-set eye was raised 
To Ettrick mountains, wild and green. 

Sullen he sat, unstaid, unblest, 
He thought of battle, broil, and blood ; 



162 THE QUEEN'S night lu- 

He never crossed, he never wist 
Till by his side a Palmer stood. 

'* Haste, my good lord, this letter read, 

111 bodes it listless thus to be ; 
Upon a die I've set my head, 

And brought this letter far to thee."-* 

Lord Pringle looked this letter on, 

His face grew pale as winter sky ; 
But, ere the half of it was done, 

The tear of joy stood in his eye. 

A purse he to the Palmer threw, 

Mounted the cleft of aged tree, 
Three times aloud his bugle blew. 

And hasted home to Torwoodlee , 

'Twas scarcely past the hour of noon 
When first tfje foray whoop began j 

And, in the wan light of the moon, 

Through March and Teviotdale it ran. 

Far to the south it spread away, 
Startled the hind by fold and tree j 

And aye the watch-word of the fray 

Was, " Ride for Ker and Torwoodlee !'' 

When next the day began to fade, 

The warriours round their chieftains range ; 

And many a solemn vow they made, 
And many an oath of fell revenge. 



Bight rn. WAKE. 153 

The Pringles' plumes indignant dance — 

It was a gallant sight to see ; 
And many a Ker, with sword and lance, 

Stood rank and file on Torwoodlee. 

As they fared up yon craigy glen, 

Where Tweed sweeps round the Thorny-hill, 
Old Gideon Murray and his men 

The foray joined with right good-will. 

They hasted up to Ploro side. 
And north above Mount- Benger turn, 

And lothly forced with them to ride 
Black Douglas of the Craigy-burn. 

When they came nigh Saint Mary's lake 
The day-sky glimmered on the dewj 

They hid their horses in the brake, 
Ajid lurked in heath and braken clough. 

The lake one purple valley lay. 

Where tints of glowing light were seen j 

The ganza waved his cuneal way, 
With yellow oar and quoif of green. 

The dark cock bayed above the coomb, 
Throned mid the wavy fringe of gold, 

TJnwreathed from dawning's fairy loom. 
In many a soft vermilion fold. 

The tinty skiffs of silver mist 
Lingered along the slumbering vale j 



154 THE QUEEN'S night na 

Belled the gray stag with fervid breast 
High on the moors of Meggat-dale. 

There hid in clough and hollow den, 

Gazing around the still sublime, 
There lay Lord Pringle and his men 

On beds of heath and moorland thyme. 

That morning found rough Tushilaw 

In all the father's guise appear j 
An end of all his hopes he saw 

Shrouded in Mary's gilded bier. 

No eye could trace without concern 
The suffering warriour's troubled look ; 

The throbs that heaved his bosom stern, 
No ear could bear, no heart could brook. 

" Wo be to thee, thou wicked dame ! 

My Mary's prayers and accents mild 
Might well have rendered vengeance lame — 

This hand could ne'er have slain my child ! 

*' But thou, in phrensied fatal hour, 
Reft the sweet life thou gavest away, 

And crushed to earth the fairest flower 
That ever breathed the breeze of day. 

" My all is lost, my hope is fled, 

The sword shall ne'er be drawn for me -, 

Unblest, untionoured my gray head — 
My child ! would I had died for thee !"— 



Bight 111. WAKE. 155 

The bell tolls o^er a new-made grave ; 

The lengthened funeral train is seea 
Stemming the Yarrow's silver wave, 

And darkening Dryhope holms so green. 

When nigh the virgin's fane they drew, 

Just by tlie verge of holy ground, 
The Kers and Pringles left the clough, 

And hemmed the wondering Scotts around. 

Vassal and peasant, seized with dread, 
Sped off, and looked not once behind j 

And all who came for wine and bread, 
Pled like the chaff before the wind. 

But all the Scotts together flew, — 
For every Scott of name was there,~ 

In sullen mood their weapons drew, 
And back to back for fight prepare. 

B-Ougli was the onset — boast, nor threat, 
Nor word, was heard from friend or foe t 

At once began the work of fate. 

With perilous thrust and deadly blow. 

O but the Harden lads were true, 
And bore them bravely in the broil ! 

The doughty laird of wild Buccleugh 
Raged like a iion in the toil. 

Voung Raeburn tilted gallantly ; 
But Ralph o» Gilmanscleugh was slaiiu, 



156 THE QUEEN'S night ih 

Philip and Hugh of Baillilee, 
And William laird of Deloraine. 

But Francis, Lord of Thirlestane, 

To all the gallant name a soil, 
While hlood of kinsmen fell like rain^ 

Crept underneath a braken coil. 

Old Tushilaw, with sword in hand, 

And heart to fiercest woes a prey, 
Seemed courting every foeman's brand, 

And fought in hottest of the fray. 

In vain the gallant kinsmen stood 
Wedged in a firm and bristled ring ; 

Their funeral weeds are bathed in blood, 
No corslets round their bosoms cling. 

Against the lance and helmed file 

Their courage, might, and skill were vain.j_ 

Short was the conflict, short the while 
Ere all the Scotts were bound or slain. 

When first the hostile band upsprung, 

The body in the church was laid. 
Where vows were made, and requiems sung, 

By matron, monk, and weeping maid. 

Lord Pringle came — before his eye 
The monks and maidens kneeled in fear ; 

But Lady Tushilaw stood by, 
And pointed to her Mary's bier ! 



iBglit 111. WAKE. 151 

"Thou lord of guile and malice keen, 
Wliat boots this doleful work to thee ! 

Could Scotland such a pair have seen 
As Mary Scott and TorWoodlee ?"^ — 

Lord Pringle came, no word he spake, 
Nor owned the pangs his bosom knew j 

But his full heart was like to break 
In every throb his bosom drew. 

*' O I had weened with fondest heart — 
Wo to the guileful friend who lied ! — 

This day should join us ne'er to part, 
This day that I should win ray bride ! 

" But 1 will see that face so meek. 
Cold, pale, and lifeless though it be j 

And I will kiss that comely cheek. 
Once sweeter than the rose to me." — 

With trembling hand he raised the lid. 
Sweet was the perfume round that flew ; 

For there were strewed the roses red, 
And every flower the forest knew. 

He drew the fair lawn from her face, 

' Iwas decked with many a costly wreath ,■ 

And still it wore a soothing grace 
Even in the chill abodes of death. 

And aye he prest the cheek so white, 
And aye he kissed the lips beloved, 
15 



158 THE QUEEN'S night in. 

Till pitying maidens wept outright, 
And even the frigid monks were moved. 

Why starts Lord Pringle to his knee ? 

Why bend his eyes with watchful strain ? 
The maidens shriek his mien to see ; 

The startled priests inquire in vain ! 



Was that a sob, an earthly sigh, 

That heaved the Bowers so liglitly shed I.' 
'Twas but the wind that wandered by, 

And kissed the bosom of the dead ! 

Are these the glowing tints of life 

O'er Mary's cheek that come and fly p 

Ah, no ! the red flowers round are rife, 
The rosebud flings its softened dye. 

Why grows the gazer^s sight so dim p 
Stay, dear illusion, still beguile ! 

Thou art worth crowns and worlds to hira^=- 
Last, dear illusion, last a while ! 

Short was thy sway, plirensied and shorty 

For ever fell the veil on tiiee ; 
Thy startling form of fears the sport, 

Vanished in sweet reality ! 

"Tis past ! and darkly stand revealed 
A mother's cares and purpose deep : 

That kiss, the last adieu that sealed, 
"Waked Mary from her death-like sl^ep- ! 



niglit III. WAKE. 159 

Slowly she raised her form of grace, 

Her eyes no ray conceptive flung j 
And O, her mild, her languid face, 

Was like a flower too early sprung ! 

•*' O I lie sick and weary here, 

My heart is bound in moveless chain ; 

Another cup, my mother dear, 
I cannot sleep though I would fain !" — 

She drank the wine with calm delay, 

She drank the wine with pause and sigh ? 

Slowly, as wakes the dawning day, 
Dawned long-lost thought in Mary's eyje> 

She looked at pall, she looked at bier, 

At altar, shrine, and rosary j 
Slie saw her lady mother near. 

And at her side brave Torwoodlee ! 

'Twas all a dream, nor boded good, 

A phantom of the fevered brain ! 
She laid her down in moaning mood, 

To sooth her w^oes in sleep again. 

Needs not to paint that joyful hour, 

The nuptial vow, the bridal glee. 
How Mary Scott, the Forest flower. 

Was borne a bride to Torwoodlee. 

iN'eeds not to say, how warriours prayed 
When Mary glided from the dome } 



160 THE QUEEN'S night ui. 

They thought the Virgin's holy shade 
In likeness of the dead had come. 

Diamond and ruby rayed her waist, 
And twinkled round her brow so fair j 

She wore more gold upon her breast 
Than would have bought the hills of Yair, 

A foot so light, a form so meet, 
Ne'er trode Saint Mary's lonely lea ; 

A bride so gay, a face so sweet. 
The Yarrow^ braes shall never see. 

Old Tushilaw deigned not to smile. 
No grateful word his tongue could say, 

He took one kiss, blest her the while, 
Wiped his dark eye, and turned away. 

The Scotts were freed, and peace restored ; 

Each Scott, each Ker, each Pringle swore. 
Swore by his name, and by his sword, 

To be firm friends for evermore. 

Lord Pringle's hills were stocked anew, 
Drove after drove came nightly free ; 

But many a Border Baron knew 
Whence came the dower to Torwoodlee. 



Scarce had the closing measure rung. 
When from the ring the minstrel sprung,- 



nJght iH. WAKE. 161 

And his gilt harp, of flowery frame. 
Left ready for the next that came. 
Loud were the plaudits, — all the fair 
Their eyes turned to the royal chair : 
Tliey looked again, — no bard was there ! 
But whisper, smile, and question ran, 
Around the ring anent the man ; 
While all the nobles of the south 
Lauded the generous stranger youth. 

The next was bred on southern shore, 
Beneath the mists of Lammermore ; 
And long, by Nith and crystal Tweed, 
Had taught the border youth to read. 
The strains of Greece, the bard of Troy, 
Were all his theme, and all his joy. 

Well toned his voice of wars to sing j 
His hair was dark as raven's wing j 
His eye an intellectual lance. 
No heart could bear its searching glance ■ 
But every bard to him was dear j 
His heart was kind, his soul sincere. 

When first of royal wake he heard, 
Forthwith it chained his sole regard . 
It was his thought, his hourly theme, 
His morning prayer, his midnight dream. 
Knights, dames, and squires of each degree, 
He deemed as fond of songs as he, 
And talked of them continually. 
But when he heard the Highland straia, 
jScarce could his breast bis soul contain j 



162 THE QUEEN'S night m. 

*Twas all unequalled, and would make 

Immortal bards ! immortal wake ! 

About Dunedin streets he ran, 

Each knight he met, each maid, each man, 

In field, in alley, tower, or hall, 

TJie wake was first, the wake was all. 

Alike to him the south or north, 
So high he held the minstrel wortli, 
So high his ardent mind was wrouglit, 
Once of himself he scarcely thought. 
Dear to his heart the strain sublime, 
The strain admired in ancient time ; 
A.nd, of his minstrel honours proud, 
He strung his harp too high, too loud. 



KING 

THE FIFTEENTH BARd'S SOiNG. 

The heath-cock had whirred at the break of the 

morn, 
The moon of her tassels of silver was shorn. 
When hoary king Edward lay tossing in ire. 
His blood in a ferment, his bosom on fire ; 
His battle files, stretched o'er the valley, were still 
As Eden's pine forests that darkened the hill. 

He slept — but his visions were loathly and grim: 
How quivered his lip ! and how quaked eveiy limb] 
His dull moving eye showed how troubled his rest, 
4nd deep were the throbs of his labouring breast. 



WAKE. 163 

!e saw the Scott^s banner red streaming on high j 
The fierce Scottish warriours determined and nigh; 
Their columns of steel, and, bright gleaming before. 
The lance, the broad target, and Highland clay 

more. 

And, lo ! at their head, in stern glory appeared 
That hero of heroes so hated and feared ; 
'Twas the exile of Rachrin that led the array, 
And "Wallace's spirit was pointing the way : 
His eye was a torch, beaming ruin and wrath, 
And graved on his helmet was — Vengeance Of 

Death ! 

In far Ethiopia's desert domain, 
^Vhere whirlwinds new mountains up-pile on the 

plain, ' 

Their crested brown billows, fierce curling on hlgb^ 
Overshadow the sun, and are tossed to tlie sky j 
But, meeting each other, they burst and recoil, 
Mix, thunder, and sink, with a reeling turmoil : 
As dreadful the onset that Edward beheld, 
As fast his brave legions were heaped on the field. 

The plaided blue Highlander, swift as the wind, 
Spread terrour before liim, and ruin behind. 
Thick clouds of blood-vapour brood over the slain. 
And Pembroke and Howard are stretched on tbft 
plain. 

The chieftain he hated, all covered with blood, 
Still nearer and nearer approached where he 

stood; 



164 THE aUEEN'S niglit nr. 

Hecould not retreat, and no succour was near, — 
*' Die, scorpion t" he cried, and pursued his career. 
The king felt the iron retreat from the wound, 
Ko hand to uphold him, he sunk on the ground ; 
His spirit escaped on the wings of the wind, 
Left terrour, confusion, and carnage behind, 
Till on the green Pentland he thought he sat loite, 
And pondered on troubles and times that wore 
gone. 

He looked over the meadow, broad river, and 

downe, 
From Ochel's fair mountains to Lammermore 

brown ; 
He still found his heart and desires were the same j 
He wished to leave Scotland nor sceptre nor name. 

He thought, as he lay on the green mountain 
thyme, a 

A spirit approached him in manner sublime. 
At first she appeared like a streamer of light. 
But still as she neared she was formed to his sight. 
Her robe was the blue silken veil of the sky, 
The drop of the amethyst deepened its dye ; 
Her crown was a helmet, emblazoned with pearl ; 
Her mantle the sunbeam, her bracelets the berj'l ; 
Her hands and her feet like the bright burning 

levin ; 
Her face was the face of an angel from heaven : 
Around her the winds and the echoes grew still, 
And rainbows were formed in the cloud of tlie bill. ■ 



Bight 111. WAK£. 165 

Like musick that floats o'er the soft heavijig 

deep, 
"When twilight has hilled all the breezes asleep, 
The wild fairy airs in our forests that rung, 
Or hymns of the sky by a seraph when sung ; 
So sweet were the tones on the fancy that broke, 
When the Guardian of Scotland's proud mountains 

thus spoke : 

"What boots, mighty Edward, thy victories 

MTonP 
'Tis over ; thy sand of existence is run ; 
Thy laurels are faded, dispersed in the blast ; 
Thy soul from the bar of Omnipotence cast. 
To wander bewildered o'er mountain and plain, 
O'er lands thou hast steeped with the blood of the 

slain. 

" I heard of thy guerdon, I heard it on high : 
Thou'rt doomed on these mountains to linger and 

lie, 
The mark of the tempest, the sport of the wind. 
The tempest of conscience, the storm of the mind, 
Till people thou'st hated, and sworn to subdue, 
Triumphant from bondage shall burst in thy view, 
Their sceptre and liberty bravely regain. 
And climb to renown over mountains of slain. 

" I thought (and I joined my endeavours to 
thine,) 
The time was arrived when the two should coni' 
bine J 

16 



166 THE QUEEN'S night m. 

For 'tis known that they will 'mong the hosts of 

the sky, 
And we thought that blest era of concord was nigh . 
But ages unborn yet shall flit on the wing, 
And Scotland to England ere then give a king ; 
A father to monarchs, whose flourishing sway 
The ocean and ends of the earth shall obey. 

*' See yon little hamlet o'ershadowed with 
smoke, 
See yon hoary battlement throned on the rock, 
Even there siiall a city in splendour break forth, 
The haughty Dunediu, the Queen of the North j 
There learning shall flourish, and liberty smile, 
The awe of the world, and the pride of the isle. 

*' But thy lonely spirit shall roam in dismayj 
And weep o'er thy labours so soon to decay. 
In yon western plain, where thy power overthrew 
The bulwarks of Caledon, valiant and few , 
Where beamed the red falchion of ravage and 

wrath ; 
Where tyranny, horsed on the dragons of death, 
Rode ruthless through blood of the honoured and 

just. 
Wlien Graeme and brave Stuart lay bleeding in 

dust, 
The wailings of liberty pierced the sky; 
Th' Everlasting, in pity, averted his eye ! 

" Even there shall the power of tliy nations 
combined, 
Pr oud England, green Erin, and Nornaajidy joined. 



lught HI. WAKE. 167 

Exulting in numbers, and dreadful array, 
Led on by Carnarvon, to Scotland away, 
As thick as the f5now-flakes that pour from the 

pole, 
Or silver-maned waves on the ocean that roll. 
A handful of heroes, all desperate driven. 
Impelled by the might and the vengeance of 

heaven ; 
By them shall his legions be all overborne. 
And melt from the field like the mist of the morn. 
The Thistle shall rear her rough front to the sky. 
And the Rose and the Shamrock at Carron shall 

die. 

" How couldst thou imagine those spirits of flame 
Would stoop to oppression, to slavery, and shame ! 
Ah ! never ; the lion may couch to thy sway, 
The mighty leviathan bend and obey j 
But the Scots, round their king and broad banner 

unfurled, 
Their mo- ains will keep against thee and the 



King Edward awoke with a groan and a start, 
The vision was vanished, but not from his heart ! 
His courage was high, but his vigour was gone j 
He cursed the Scotch nation, and bade them lead 

on. 
His legions moved on like a cloud of the west; 
But fierce was the fever that boiled in his breast. 
On sand of the Solway they rested his bed. 
Where the soul of the king and the warriour fled I 



163 THE QUEEN'S night m. 

He heard not the sound of the evening curfew ; 
But the whisper that died on his tongue was— 
*' Subdue !" 



The bard had sung so bold and high, 
While patriot fire flashed from his eye, 
That ere King Edward won to rest, 
Or sheet was spread above his breast. 
The harp strings jarred in wild mistone ; 
The minstrel throbbed, his voice was gone. 
Upon his harp he leaned his head, 
And softly from the ring was led. 

The next was from a western vale. 
Where Nith winds slowly down the dale ; 
Where play the waves o'er golden grain', 
liike miraick billows of the main. 
Of the old elm his harp was made, 
That bent o'er Cluden's loneliest shade ;■ 
No gilded sculpture round her flamed. 
For his own hand that harp had framed, 
•In stolen hours, wlien, labour dene, 
He strayed to view tlie parting sun. 
O when the toy to him so fair, 
Began to form beneath his care. 
How danced his youtliful heart with joy I 
How constant grew the dear employ ! 
The sun would chamber in the Ken j 
The red star rise o'er Lochevben ; 



night 111. WAKE. 169 

The solemn moon, in sickly hue. 
Waked from her eastern couch of dew, 
Would half way gain the vault on high, 
Bathe in the Nith, slow stealing by. 
And still the bard his task would ply. 

When his first notes, from covert gray, 
Arrested maiden on her way ; 
When ceased the reaper's evening tale, 
And paused the shepherd of the dale,— 
Bootless all higher worldly bliss, 
To crown our minstrel's happiness ! 
What all the joys by fortune given, 
To cloyless song, the gift of heaven ? 

That harp could make the matron stare, 
Bristle the peasant's lioary hair. 
Make patriot-breasts with ardour glow, 
And warrionr pant to meet the foe ; 
And long by Nith the maidens young 
Shall chant the strains their minstrel sungj 
At ewe-bught, or at evening fold, 
When resting on the daisied wold. 
Combing their locks of waving gold, 
Oft the fair groupe en rapt, shall name 
Their lost, their darling Cunninghame j 
His was a song beloved in youth, — 
A. tale of weir— a tale of truth. 



170 THE QUEEN'S night in? 



DUMLANRIG. 

THE SIXTEENTH BARD's SONG. 

Who's he stands at Dumlanrig's gate ? 
Who raps so loud, and raps so late ? 
Nor warder's threat, nor porter's growl, 
Question, nor watch-dog's angry howl, 
He once regards, but rap and call, 
Thundering alternate, shake the walL 
The captive, stretched in dungeon deep, 
AVaked from his painful visioned sleep j 
His meagre form from pavement raised, 
And listened to the sounds amazed : 
Both bayle and keep rang with the din. 
And Douglas heard the noise within. 

*' Ho ! rise, Dumlanrig ! all's at stake ! 
Ho ! rise, Dumlanrig ! Douglas, wake ! — 
Blow, warder — blow thy warning shrill, 
Light up the beacon on the hill, 
For round thee reaves thy ruthless foe- 
Arise, Dumlanrig ! Douglas, ho !" 

His fur-cloak round him Douglas threw, 
And to the crennel eager flew. 
" What news ? what news? thou stalwart groom, 
Who thus, in midnight's deepest gloom, 
Bring'st to my gate the loud alarm 
Of foray wide and country harm ? 
What are thy dangers ? what thy fears 
Say out thy message, Douglas hears." 



fliglitin. WAKE. 171 

" Haste, Douglas ! Douglas, arm with speed, 
And mount thy fleetest battle steed ; 
For Lennox, with the southern host, 
Whom thou hast baulked and curbed the most. 
Like locusts from the Solway blown, 
Are spread upon thy mountains brown ; 
Broke from their camp in search of prey, 
They drive thy flocks and herds away; 
Roused by revenge, and hunger keen, 
They've swept the hills of fair Dalveeu ; 
^^or left the bullock, goat, or steer, 
On all the holms of Durisdeer. 

" One troop came to my father's hall ; 
Tliey burnt our tower, — they took our alf. 
My dear, my only sister May, 
By force the ruffians bore away j 
Nor kid, nor lamb, bleats in the glen, 
Around all lonely Locherbcn ! 

" My twenty men, I have no moe, 
Eager to cross the roaming foe, 
Well arm'd with hauberk and broad sword, 
Keep ward at Cauiple's rugged ford. 
Before they bear their prey across, 
Some Soutlirons shall their helmets lose, 
If not the heads those helmets shield, — 
O, haste tli«e, Do.iglas, to the field !"— 
With that his horse around tie drew, 
And down thepatix like lightulng Hew. 

" Ariu," cried the Douglas, " one and all ]" 
And vanished from the echoing wall. 



172 THE QUEEN'S night m. 

"■Arm !" was the word ; along it ran 
Through manor, bayle, and barbican ; 
And clank and clatter burst at once 
From every loop of hall and sconce. 
With whoop of groom, and warder's call, 
And prancing steeds, 'twas hurry aid. 

At first, like thunder's distant tone, 
The rattling din came rolling on, 
Echoed Dumlanrig woods around ; 
Louder and louder swelled the sound. 
Till like the sheeted flame of wonder, 
That rends the shoals of heaven asunder. 

When first the word, " To arms !" was giYGOf 
Glowed all the eastern porch of heaven , 
A wreathy cloud of orient brown, 
Had heralded the rising moon, 
Whose verge was like a silver bow, 
Bending o'er Ganna's lofty brow ; 
And ere above the mountain blue 
Her wasted orb was rolled in view, 
A thousand men, in armour sheen, 
Stood ranked upon Dumlanrig green. 

The Nith they stemmed In firm array 
For Caraple-ford they bent their way. 
Than Douglas and his men that night, 
Never saw yeomen nobler sight ; 
Mounted on tall curvetting steed, 
He rode undaunted at their head ; 
His shadow on the water still, 
Like giant on a moving hill. 



night in. WAKE. 173 

The ghastly bull's-head scowled on high, 
Emblem of death to foeraan's eye ; 
And bloody hearts on streamers pale, 
Waved wildly in the midnight gale. 

O, haste thee, Douglas ! haste and ride ! 
Thy kinsmen's corpses stem the tide ! 
"What red, what dauntless youth is he. 
Who stands in Cample to the knee j 
Whose arm of steei, and weapon good, 
Still dyes the stream with soutliern blood. 
While round him fall his faithful men ? 
'Tis Morison of Locherben. 

O, haste thee, Douglas, to tlie fray, 
Ere won be that important way ! 
The Southron's countless prey, within 
The dreadful coils of Crighup linn, 
Wo passage from the moor can find, — 
The wood below, the gulf beiiind : 
One ford there is, and one alone, 
And in that ford stands Morison. 
Who passes there, or man or beast. 
Must make their passage o'er his breast, 
And over heaps of mangled dead. 
That dam red Crample from its bed. 
His sister's cries his soul alarm. 
And add new vigour to his arm. 
His twenty men are waned to ten, 
O, haste to dauntless Locherben ! 

The Southrons, baulked, impitient turn, 
Aod crowd once more the fatal bouro. 



174 THE QUEEN'S night la. 

All desperate grew the work of death, 
No yielding but with yielding breath j 
Even still lay every death- struck man. 
For footing to the furious van. 
The little band was seized witli dread, 
Behind their rampart of the dead : 
Power from their arms began to fly, 
And hope within their breasts to die, 
When loud they heard the cheering word 
Of—" Douglas ! Douglas !" cross the ford j 
Then turned the Southron sAvift as wind, 
For fierce the battle raged behind. 

O, stay, brave Morison ! O, stay ! 
Guard but tliat pass till bieak of day ; 
Thy flocks, thy sister to retrieve, 
That task to doughty Douglas leave : 
Let not thine ardour all betray, — 
Thy might is spent — brave warriour, stay. 

O, for the lyre of heaven, that rung 
When Linden's lofty hymn was sung j 
Or his, who from the height beheld 
The reeling strife of Flodden field ! 
Then far on wing of genius borne 
Should ring the wonders of that mom : 
Morn ! — ah ! how many a warriour bold 
That morn was nevev lo belioid ! 
When rival rank to rank drew nigh, 
When eye w",s fixed on focman's eye. 
When lowered ^as lance, cUid bent was bow, 
And falchion clenclied to strike the blow. 



nSghtiii. WAKE. IT.*? 

No breath was heard, nor clank of mail, 
£ach face with rage grew deadly pale. 
Trembled the moon's reluctant ray ; 

The breeze of heaven sunk soft away. 

So furious was that onset's shock, 
Destruction's gates at once unlock : 
' Twas like the earthquake's hollow groan, 
When towers and towns are overthrown : 
'Twas like the river's midnight crush, 
When snows dissolve, and torrents rush j 
When fields of ice, in rude array, 
Obstruct its own resistless way -. 
'Twas like the whirlwind's rending sweolp : 
'Twas like the tempest of the deep. 
Where Corrybraken's surges driven, 
jNIeet, mount, and lash the breast of heaven^ 

'Twas foot to foot, and brand to brand ; 
Oft hilt to hilt, and hand to hand j 
Oft gallant foeman, wo to tell. 
Dead in each other's bosoms fell ! 
The horsemen met with might and main. 
Then reeled, and wheeled, and met again. 
A thousand spears on hawberks bang ; 
A thousand swords on helmets clang. 
Where might was with the feebler blent, 
Still there the line of battle bent j 
As oft recoiled from flank assail. 
While blows fell thick as rattling hail. 
Nature stood mute that fateful hour, 
All save the ranks on Cample-moor, 



k 



i76 THE QUEEN'S night lu. 

And mountain goats that left their den, 
And bleating fled to Garroch glen. 

Duralanrig, aye in battle keen, 
The foremost in the broil was seen : 
Wo to the warriour dared withstand 
The progress of his deadly brand ! 
He sat so firm, he reined so well, 
Whole ranks before his charger fell. 
A valiant youth kept by his side, 
With crest and armour crimson-dyed ; 
Charged still with him the yielding foe, 
And seconded his every blow. 
The Douglas wondered whence he came, 
And asked his lineage and his name. 
'Twas he who kept the narrow way, 
Who raised at first the battle-fray. 
And roused Dumlanrig and his men, — 
Brave JMorison of Locherben , 

" My chief," he said, " forgive my fear 
For one than life to me more dear j 
Rut late I heard my sister cry, 
' Dumlanrig, now thy weapon ply.' — 
Her guard waits in yon hollow lea, 
Beneath the sliade of spreading tree." — 

Dumlanrig's eye witli ardour shone j 
" Follow !" he cried, .md spurred him on: 
A close gazoon the horsemen made, 
Douglas and Morison the head, 
And through the ranks impetuous bore, 
By dint of lance and broad claymore, 



night iir. WAKE. *177 

Mid shouts, and groans of parting life, 
For hard and doubtful was the strife. 
Behind a knight, firm belted on, 
They found tlie fair May Morison. 
But why, through all Dumlanrig's train. 
Search her bright eyes, and search in vain ? 
A stranger mounts her on his steed ; 
Brave Morison, where art thou fled p 
The drivers for their booty feared, 
And, soon as Cample-ford was cleared-, 
To work they fell, and forced away 
Across the stream their raiglity prey. 
The bleating flocks in terrour ran 
Across the bloody breast of man j 
Even the dull cattle gazed with dread, 
And, lowing, foundered o'er the dead. 

The Southrons still the fight maintain ; 
Though broke, they closed and fought again,- 
Till shouting drivers gave the word. 
That all the flocks had cleared the ford j 
Tlien to that pass tlie bands retire. 
And safely braved Dumlanrig's ire. 
Rashly he tried, and tried in vain. 
That steep, that fatal path to gain ^ . 
Madly prolonged th' unequal fray. 
And lost his men, and lost the day. 
Amid the battle's fiercest shock, 
Three spears were on his bosom broke, 
Then forced in flight to seek remede. 
Had it not been his noble steed, 
That swift away his master bore, 
He ne'er had seen Dumlanrig more, 



178 - THE QUEEN'S niglit <5t. 

The day-beam, from his moonlight sleep, 
O'er Queensberry began to peep, 
Kneeled drowsy on the mountain fern, 
At length rose tiptoe on the cairn, 
Embracing, in his bosom pale, 
The stars, the moon, and shadowy dale. 
Then what a scene appall'd the view, 
On Cample-moor, as dawning grew ! 
Along the purple heather spread, 
Lay mixed the dying and the dead ,• 
Stern foeman there from quarrel cease;, 
Who ne'er before had met in peace. 
Two kinsmen good the Douglas lost, 
And full three hundred of his host ; 
With one by him lamented most, 
The flower of all the Nithsdale men, 
Young Morison of Locherben. 

The Southrons did no foot pursue, 
Nor seek the conflict to renew. 
They knew not at the rising sun 
What mischief they'd to Douglas done, 
But to the south pursued their way, 
Glad to escape with such a prey. 

Brave Douglas, where thy pride of weir 
How stinted in thy bold career ! 
Wo, that the Lowther eagle's look 
Should shrink before the Lowland rook ! 
Wo, that the lordly lion's paw 
Of ravening wolves should sink in awe I 
But doubly wo, the purple heart 
Should taj-nished from the field depart t 



njght III. WAKE. 179 

Was it the loss of kinsmen dear, 
Or crusted scratch of Southron spear ? 
Was it thy dumb, thy sullen host, 
Thy glory by misconduct lost ? 
Or thy proud bosom, swelling high, 
Made the round tear roll in thine eye ? 
Ah ! no ; thy heart was doomed to prove 
The sharper pang of slighted love. 

What vision lingers on the heath, 
Flitting across the field of death ;. 
Its gliding motion, smooth and still 
As vapour on the twilight hill, 
Or the last ray of falling even 
Shed through the parting clouds of heaven^' 

Is it a sprite that roams forlorn ? 
Or angel fiom the bowers of morn, 
Come down a tear of iieaven to shed, 
In pity o'er the valiant dead p 
No vain, no fleeting phantom this ! 
IN^o vision from the bowers of bliss ! 
Its radiant eye, and stately tread. 
Bespeak some beauteous mountain maid j 
No rose of Eden's bosom meek, 
Could match that maiden's moistened clieek ; 
No drifted wreath of morning^snow, 
The whiteness of her lofty brow ; 
Nor gem of India's purest dye, 
The lustre of her eagle eye. 

When beauty, Eden's bowers withia. 
First stretched the arm to deeds of sin; 



•J 80 THE QUEEN'S night m. 

When passion burned, and prudence slept, 
The pitying angels bent and wept. 
But tears more soft were never shed, 
No, not when angels bowed the head, 
A sigh more raild did never breathe 
O'er human nature whelmed in death, 
Nor wo and dignity combine 
In face so lovely, so benign, 
As Douglas saw that dismal hour, 
Bent o'er a corse on Cample-moor j 
A lady o'er her shield, her trust, 
A brave, an only brother's dust. 

What heart of man unmoved can lie, 
When plays the smile in beauty's eye p 
Or when a form of grace and love 
To musick's notes can lightly move ? 
Yes J there are hearts unmoved can see 
The smile, the ring, the revelry ; 
But heart of warriour ne'er could bear 
The beam of beauty's crystal tear. 
Well was that morn the maxim proved, — 
The Douglas saw, the Douglas loved. 

" O, cease thy tears, ray lovely May, 
Sweet floweret of the banks of Ae, 
His soul thou never canst recal ! 
He fell as warriour wont to fall. 
Deep, deep the loss we both bewail ; 
But that deep loss to countervail, 
Far as the day-flight of the hern, 
From Locherben to green Glencairj^ 



night ni. WAKE. 1^1 

From where the Shinnel torrents pour 

To the lone vales of Crawford-moor, 

The fairy links of Tweed and Lyne, 

All, all the Douglas has, is thine, 

And Douglas too ; whate'er betide, 

Straight thou shalt be Dumlanrig's bride." — 

" Wliat ! mighty chief, a bride to thee ! 
No, by yon heaven's High Majesty, 
Sooner I'll beg, forlorn and poor. 
Bent at thy meanest vassal's door, 
Than look thy splendid halls within, 
Thou deer, wrapt in a Hob's skin ! 

" Here lies the kindest, bravest man j 
There lie thy kinsmen, pale and wan j 
What boots thy boasted mountains green ? 
Nor flock, nor herd, can there be seen ; 
All driven before thy vaunting foe 
To ruthless slaughter, bleat and low, 
Whilst tliou,— shame on thy dastard head ! — 
A wooing com'st amidst the dead. 

" O, that this feeble maiden hand 
Could bend the bow, or wield the brand J 
If yeomen mustered in my hall, 
Or trooped obsequious at my call, 
My country's honour I'd restore. 
And shame thy face for evermore. 
Go, first thy flocks and herds regain ; 
Revenge thy friends in battle slain j 
f 17 



182 THE QUEEN'S nightin. 

Thy wounded honour heal j that done, 
Douglas may ask May Morison." 

Dumlanrig's blood to's bosom rushed, 
His manly cheek like crimson blushed. 
He called three yeomen to his side : 
" Haste, gallant warriours, haste and ride ? 
Warn Lindsay on the banks of Daur, 
The fierce M'Turk and Lochinvaur j 
Tell them that liennox flies araain|; 
That Maxwell and Glencairn are ta'en ; 
Kilpatrick with the spoiler rides ; 
The Johnston flies, and Jardine hides : 
That I alone am left to fight, 
For country's cause and sovereign's right. 
My friends are fallen, — my warriours toiled, — 
My towns are burnt, — my vassals spoiled : 
Yet say — befere to-morrow's sun 
With amber tips the mountain dun, 
Either that host of ruthless thieves 
I'll scatter like the forest leaves, 
Or my wrung heart shall cease to play, 
And my right hand the sword to sway. 
A.t Blackwood I'll their coming bide : 
Haste, gallant warriours, haste and ride !"-"• 

He spoke : — each yeoman bent his eye. 
And forward stooped in act to fly j 
No plea was urged, no short demur ; 
Each heel was turned to strike the spur. 

As ever ye saw the red deer's brood. 
From covert sprung, traverse the wood j 



;)iglitni. WAKE. T83 

Or heath-fowl beat the mountain wind, 

And leave the fowler fixt behind ; 

As ever ye saw three arrows spring 

At once from yew-bow's twanging string,— 

So flew the messengers of death, 

And, lessening, vanished on thelieath. 

The Douglas bade his troops with speed 
Prepare due honours for the dead, 
And meet well armed at evening still 
On the green cone of Blackford-hill. 
There came M'Turk to aid the war. 
With troops from Shinnel glens and Scaur ; 
Fierce Gordon with the clans of Ken, 
And Lindsay with his Crawford men ; 
Old Morton, too, forlorn and gray, 
Whose son had fallen at break of day. 

If troops on earth may e'er withstand 
An onset made by Scottish brand, 
Then lawless rapine sways the throng. 
And conscience whispers — " This is wrong ;" 
Bat should a foe, whate'er his might. 
To Scotia's dust dispute our right, 
Or dare on native mountain claim 
The poorest atom boasts our name, 
Though high that warriour's banners soar, 
Let him beware the broad claymore. 

Scotland ! thy honours long have stood. 
Though rudely cropt, though rolled in bloody 
Yet, bathed in warm and purple dew, 
More glorious o'er the ruin grew. 



IS4 THE QUEEN'S night n 

Long flourished thy paternal line j 
Arabia's lineage stoops to thine. 

Dumlanrig found his foes secure, 
{Stretched on the ridge of Locher-moof . 
The hum that wandered from their host, 
Far on the midnight breeze was lost. 
IVo deafening drum, no bugle's swell, 
JVo watch-word past from sentinel, 
No slight vibration stirred the air 
To warn the Scot a foe was there, 
Save bleat of flocks that wandered slow, 
And oxen's deep and sullen low. 

What horrours o'er the warriour hang { 
What vultures watch his soul to fang ! 
What toils ! what snares ! — he hies him on 
Where lightnings flash, and thunders groan ; 
Where havock strikes whole legions low. 
And death's red billows murmuring flow j 
Yet still he fumes and flounders on, 
Till crushed the moth — its mem'ry gone ! 

Why should the bard, who loves to mourn 
His maiden's scorn by mountain bourn, 
Or pour his wild harp's faiiy tone 
From sounding cliff or green-wood lone. 
Of slaughtered foemen proudly tell, 
On deeds of death and horrour dwell ? 

Dread was Dumlanrig*s martial ire,. 
Fierce on the foe he rushed like fire» 



night III. WAKE. 185 

Lindsay of Crawford, known to fame, 
That night first gained a hero's name. 
M'Turk stood deep in Southron gore, 
And legions down before him bore ; 
And Gordon, with his Galloway crew, 
O'er floundering ranks resistless flew. 
Short was the strife ! — they fled as fast 
As chaff" before the northern blast, 

Dumlanrig's flocks were not a few. 
And well their worth Dumlanrig knew j 
But ne'er so proud was he before 
Of his broad bounds and countless store. 
As when they strung up Nithsdale plain, 
Well guarded to their hills again. 
With Douglas' name the green-woods rung, 
As battle-songs his warriours sung. 
The banners streamed in double row, 
The heart above, the rose below. 
His visage glowed, his pulse beat high, 
And gladness sparkled in his eye : 
For why, he knew the lovely May, 
Who in Kilpatrick's castle lay, 
With joy bis proud return would view, 
And her impetuous censure rue. 

"Well judged he : — Why should haughty chief 
Intrude himself on lady's grief, 
As if his rigkt, as nought but he 
Were worthy her anxiety. 
No, warriour : keep thy distance due^ 
' Btauty is proud and jealous too. 



186 THE QUEEN'S night nu 

If fair and young thy maiden be, 

Know she knew that ere told by tliee. 

Be kind, be gentle, heave the sigh, 

And blush before her piercing eye ; 

For thougli thou'rt noble, brave, and young, 

If rough thy mien and rude thy tongue, 

Though proudly towers thy trophied pile, 

Hope not for beauty's yielding smile. 

O ! well it suits the brave and high, 

Gentle to prove in lady's eye. 

Dumlanrlg found his lovely flower 
Fair as the sun-beam o'er the shower. 
Gentle as zepliyr of the plain, 
Sweet as the rose-bud after rain : 
Gone all her scorn and maiden pride, 
She blushed Dumlanrig's lovely bride. 

James of Dumlanrig, though thy name 
Scarce vibrates in the ear of fame. 
But for thy might and valour keen. 
That gallant house had never been. 

Blest be thy mem'ry, gallant man ! 
Oft flashed thy broad sword in the van ; 
When stern rebellion reared the brand, 
And stained the laurels of our land, 
No knight unshaken stood like thee 
In right of injured majesty : 
Ev'n yet, o'er thy forgotten bier, 
A minstrel drops the burning tear. 
And strikes his wild harp's boldest string. 
Thy honours on the breeze to fling, 



night m. WAKE. 187 

That mountains once thine own may know 
From whom the Queensberry honours flow. 

Fair be thy mem'ry, gallant knight ! 
So true in love, so brave in fight ! 
Though o'er thy children's princely urn 
The sculpture towers, and seraphs mourn^ 
O'er thy green grave shall wave the yew. 
And heaven distil its earliest dew 



When ceased the bard's protracted song, 
Circled a smile the fair among ; 
Tlie song was free, and soft its fall, 
So soothing, yet so bold withal, 
They loved it well, yet, sooth to say, 
Too long, too varied was the lay. 

'Twas now the witching time of night, 
When reason strays, and forms that fright, 
Are shadowed on the palsied sight ; 
When fancy moulds upon the mind 
Light visions on the passing wind, 
And woos, with faltering tongue and sigh, 
The shades o'er memory's wilds that fly j 
And much the circle longed to hear 
Of gliding ghost, or gifted seer, 
That in that still and solemn hour 
Might stretch imagination's power, 
And restless fancy revel free 
In painful, pleasing Inxury. 



183 tHE QUEEN'S night n 

Just as the battle-tale was done, 
The watchman called the hour of one. 

Lucky the hour for him who came, 
Lucky the wish of every dame, 
The bard who rose at herald's call 
Was wont to sing in Highland hall, 
Where the wild chieftain of M'Leau 
Upheld his dark Hebridian reign ; 
Where floated crane and clamorous gull 
Above the misty shores of Mull j 
And evermore the billows rave 
Round many a saint and sovereign's grave. 
There round Columba's ruins gray 
The shades of monks are wont to stray, 
And slender forms of nuns, that weep 
In moonlight by the murmuring deep, 
O'er early loves and passions crost, 
And being's end for ever lost. 
No earthly form their names to save, 
No stem to flourish o'er their grave, 
No blood of tlieirs beyond the shrine 
To nurse the human soul divine. 
Still cherish youth by time unworn, 
And flow in ages yet unborn. 
While mind, surviving evermore, 
Unbodied seeks that lonely shore. 

In that wild land our minstrel bred, 
From youth a life of song had led. 
Wandering each shore and upland dull 
With Allan Bawn, the bard of Mull, 



night 111. WAKE. 

To sing the deeds of old Fingal, 
In every cot and Highland hall. 

Well knew he every ghost that came 
To visit fair Hebridian dame, 
Was that of monk or abbot gone, 
Who once, in cell of pictured stone, 
Of woman thought, and her alone. 

Well knew he every female shade 
To westland chief that visit paid 
In morning pale, or evening dun. 
Was that of fair lamenting nun, 
Who once, in cloistered home forlorn, 
Languished for joys in youth forsworn j 
And oft himself had seen them glide 
At dawning from his own bed-side. 

Forth stepped he with uncourtly boTf, 
The heron piurae waved o'er his brow, 
His garb was blent with varied shade, 
And round him flowed his Highland plaid. 
But wo to Southland dame "and knight 
In minstrel's tale who took delight. 
Though known tlie air, the song he sung 
Was in the barbarous Highland tongue : 
But tartaned chiefs in raptures hear 
The strains, the words, to them so dear. 

Thus run the bold portentous lay, 
A s near as southern tongue can say, 

IS 



190 THE QUEEN'S nightjn. 

THE ABBOT M*KINNON. 

THE SEVENTEENTH BARD*S SONG. 

M'Kinnon's tall raa?t salutes the day, 
And beckons the breeze in lona bay j 
Plays lightly up in the moruiug sky, 
And nods to ti-t green wave rolling by; 
The anc or .n.heaves, the sails unfurl, 
The pennons of rAlk in the breezes curl ; 
But not one monk onJiQly ground 
Knows whither the Abopt IM'Kinaon is boand. 

Well could that bark o'er the oceab glide, 
Tliougii monks and friars alone inust guide j 
For never man of other degree 
(^n board tliat sacred ship might be. 
On deck M'^Kinnon wolked soft and slow; 
The haulers sung from tlie giklc^l prow ; 
The helmsma.i turned hh bj ow to the sky, 
Upraised his cowl, and upraised liis eye, 
And away shot the bark on the -.vitig of the wind. 
Over billow and bay like an image oi mind. 

Aloft on the turret the monks appear, 
To see where the b\ik of their abbot would bear j 
They saw lier sweep from Jona bny, 
And turn her prow lo th? north away. 
Still lessen to view in the hazy skrecn, 
And vanish amid tlie islands green. 
Then they turned their eyes to the female dome, 
Aad thought of the nuns till the abbot came home. 



nightiii. WAKE. 191 

Three times the night with aspect dull 
Came stealing o'er tlie moori of Mull j 
Three times the sea-gull left the deep. 
To doze on the knob of the dizzy steep, 
By the sound of the ocean lull'd to sleep ; 
And still the watch lights sailors see 
On the top of the spire, and the top of Dun-yej 
And the laugh riogs tlirough the sacred dome, 
For still the abbot is not come home. 

But the wolf tnat nightly swam the sound, 
From Ross's rude impervious bound. 
On the ravenous burrowing race to feed, 
That loved to haunt the home of the dead, 
To him Saint Columb had left in trust, 
To guard the bones of the royal and just, 
Of saints and of kings the sacred dust ; 
The savage was scared from his charnel of death, 
And swam to his home in Iiunger and wrath, 
For he momently saw, through the night so dun. 
The cowering monk, and the veiled nun, 
Wliisperlng, sighing, and stealing away 
By cross dark alley, and portal gray. 
O, wise was the founder, and well said he, 
" Where there are women mischief must be.'* 

^o more the watch-fires gleam to the blast, 
M'Kinnon and friends arrive at last. 
A stranger youth to the isle they brought, 
Modest of mien and deep of thought, 
In costly sacred robes bedight. 
And he lodged with the abbot by day and by night. 



192 THE QUEEN'S night m. 

His breast was s;raceful, and round withal, 
His leg was taper, his foot was small, 
And his tread so lij^ht thnt it iiung no sound 
On listening ear or vault riound. 
His eye wis the roorniuc's hri2;htest ray, 
And his neck iik^ Hie swan's in lona buy ; 
Hi' teeth t!ie ivoiy polished new, 
And his V^p like the morel wben glossed with dew, 
While umler his cowl's embroidered fold 
Were seen the curls oi" waving gold. 
This comely youth, of beauty so bright, 
Abode with the abbot by day and by night. 

When arm in arm they walked the isle. 
Young; fiiars would beckon, and monks would 

smile : 
But sires, in d;'er.d of sins unsbriven. 
Would shake the'r heads and look up to heaven, 
Afraid the fro\vii of 'he saint to see, 
Who reared their t:niipie amid the sea, 
And pledged his sou; to ^xuard the dome, 
Till virtue should fly her western home. 
But now a stranger of hidden d^^gree, 
Too f lir, too gentle, a man to be. 
This stranger of beiuty and step so light 
Abode witli the abbot by day and by night. 

The months and the days flew lightly by, 
The monks were kind and the nuns were shy j 
But the gray-haired sires, in trembling mood, 
Kneel'd at the altar a^d kissed the rood. 



light III. WAKE. 193 

M'Kiimon he dreamed that the saint of the isle 
Stood by liis side, and with courteous smile 
Bade him arise from his guilty sleep, 
And pay his respects to the God of the deep, 
In temple tliat north in the main appeared, 
Which fire from bowels of ocean had seared, 
Which the giant builders of heaven had reared, 
To rival in graudeur the stately pile 
Himself had uproared in lona's isle ; 
For round them rose the mountains of sand, 
The fishes had left the coasts of the land, 
And so high ran the waves of the angry sea, 
They had drizzled the cross on the top of Dun-ye. 
The cycle was closed, and the period run. 
He had vowed to the sea, he had vowed to the 

sun, 
If in that time rose trouble or pain. 
Their homage to pay to the God of the main. 
Then he bade him haste and the rites prepare. 
Named all the monks should with him fare. 
And promised again to see him there. 

M'Kinnon awoke from his visioned sleep, 
He opened his casement and looked on the deep ; 
He looked to the mountains, he looked to the 

shore, 
The vision amazed him and troubled him sore, 
He never had heard of the rite before ; 
But all was so plain, he thought meet to obey, 
He durst not decline, and he would not delay. 

Uprose the abbot, uprose the morn, 
Uprose the sun from the Bens of Lorn ; 



194 THE QUEEN'S night nt 

And the bark lier course to the ntrthward framed, 
With all on board whom the saint had named. 

The clouds were journeying east the sky, 
The wind was low and the swell was high, 
And the glossy sea was heaving bright 
Like ridges and hills of liquid light; 
While far on lier lubrick bosom were seen 
The magick dyes of purple and green. 

How joyed the bark her sides to lave ! 
She leaned to the lee, and she girdled the wave; 
Aloft on the stayless verge she hung, 
Light on the steep wave veered and swung, 
And the crests of the billows before her flung. 
Loud murmured the ocean with gulf and with 

growl, 
The seal swam aloof and the dark sea- fowl ; 
The pye-duck souglit the depth of the main, 
And rose in the wheel of her wake again ; 
And behind her, far to the southward, shone 
A pathway of snow on the waste alone. 

But now the dreadful strand they gain. 
Where rose the sacred dome of the main j 
Oft had they seen tiie place before, 
And kept aloof from the dismal shore, 
But now it rose before their prow, 
And what they beheld they did not know. 
The tall gray forms, in close-set file, 
I'pholding the roof of that holy pile j 



night ni. WAKE. 195 

The sheets of foam and the clouds of spray, 

And the groans that rushed from the portals grey» 

Appalled their hearts, and drove them away. 

They wheeled their bark to the east around, 
And moored in basin, by rocks imbound ; 
Then, awed to silence, they trode the strand 
Where fumaced pillars in order stand, 
All framed of the liquid burning levin, 
And bent like the bow that spans the heaven- 
Or upright. ranged in horrid array, 
With purfle of green o'er the darksome gray. 

Their path was on wonderous pavement of old, 
Its blocks all cast in some giant mould, 
Fair hewn and grooved by no mortal hand, 
With countermure guarded by sea and by land. 
The watcher Busliella frowned over their way, 
Enrobed in the sea-baize, and hooded with gray ; 
Tlie warder that stands by that dome of the deep, 
With spray-shower and raiiibow, the entrance to 

keep. 
But when they drew nigh to the chancel of ocean. 
And saw her waves rush to their raving devotion, 
Astounded and awed to the antes they clung. 
And listened the hymns in her temple she sung. 
The song of the cliff, when tlie winter winds blow, 
The thunder of heaven, the earthquake below, 
Conjoined, like the voice of a maiden would be, 
Compared with the anthem there sung by the sea; 

The solenan rows in that darksome den, 
Were dimly seen like the forms of men, 



196 THE QUEEN'S night m. 

Like giant monks in ages agone, 

Whom the God of the ocean had seared to slonc. 

And bound in his temple for ever to lean, 

In sackcloth of gray and visors of green, 

An everlasting worship to keep, 

And the big salt tears eternally weep. 

So rapid the motion, the whrrl and the boil, 
So loud was the tumult, so fierce the turmoil, 
Appalled from those portals of terrour they turn, 
On pillar of marble their incense to burn. 
Around the holy flame they pray. 
Then turning their faces all west away, 
On angel pavement each bent his knee, 
And sung this hymn to the God of the sea. 



Thou, who makest the ocean to flow, 
Thou, who walkest the channels below ; 
To thee, to thee, this incense we heap. 
Thou, who knowest not slumber nor sleep, 
Great Spirit that movest on the face of the deep ! 
To thee, to thee, we sing to thee, 
God of the western wind, God of the sea. 

To thee, who gatherest with thy right hand 
The little fishes around our land ; 
To thee, who breathest in the bellied sail, 
Rul'st the shark and the rolling whale, 



night HI. WAKE. 197 

Flingest the sinner to downward grave, 

Lightest the gleam on the mane of the wave, 

Bidst the billows thy reign deform, 

Laugh'st in the whirlwind, sing'st in the storm, 

Or risest like mountain amid the isea, 

Where mountain was never, and never will be, 

And rear'st thy proud and thy pale chaperoon 

Mid walks of the angels and ways of the moon j 

To thee, to thee, this wine we pour, 

God of the western wind, God of the shower. 

To thee, who bid'st those mountains of brine 
Softly sink in the fair moonshine, 
And spread'st thy couch of silver light, 
To lure to thy bosom the queen of the night. 
Who weavest the cloud of the ocean dew. 
And the mist thai sleeps on her breast so blue j 
When the murmurs die at the base of the hill. 
And the shadows lie rocked and slumbering still, 
And the Solan's young, and the lines of foam, 
Are scarcely heaved on thy peaceful home, 
We pour this oil and this wine to thee, 
God of the western wind, God of the sea !— 
" Greater yet must the ofiering be," 



The monks gazed round, the abbot grew wai, 
For tlie closing notes were not sung by man. 
They came from the rock, or they came from the 

air, 
Fjooo voice they knew not, and knew not where ; 



198 THE QUEEN'S night m. 

But it sung with a raournfnl melody, 
" Greater yet must the offering be." 

In holy dread they past away, 
And they walked the ridge of that isle so gray. 
And saw tJie white waves toil and fret, 
An hundred fatlioms below their feet j 
They-looked to the countless isles that lie, 
From Barra to Mull, and from Jura to Skye ; 
They looked to heaven, they looked to the maip, 
They looked at all with a silent pain. 
As on places they were not to see again. 

A little bay lies hid from sight, 
O'erhung by cliffs of dreadful height ; 
When they drew nigh that airy steep. 
They heard a voice rise from tlie deep, 
And that voice was sweet as voice could be, 
And they feared it came from the Maid of the Sea. 

M'Kinnon lay stretched on the verge of the hill, 
And peeped from the height on the bay so still ; 
And he saw her sit on a weedy stone, 
Laving her fair breast, and singing alone j 
And aye she sank the wave within, 
Till it gurgled around her lovely chin. 
Then combed her locks of the pale sea-greeDj 
Aod aye this song was heard between. 



night in. WAKE. 199 



THE 

Matilda of Skye 

Aloiip may lie, 
And list to the wind that whistles by ; 

Sad may she be, 

For deep in the sea, 
Deep, deep, deep in the sea, 
This night her lover shall sleep with me. 

She may turn and hide 

From the spirits that glide. 
And the ghost that stands at her bed-side ; 
But never a kiss the vow shall seal, 
Nor wann embrace her bosom feel ; 
For far, far down in the floors below, 
Moist as this rock-weed, cold as the snow. 
With the eel, and the clam, and the pearl of the 

deep, 
On soft sea-flowers her lover shall sleep. 
And long and sound shall his slumber be 
In the coral bowers of the deep with me. 

The treiTjLlin|aun, far, far away, 
Shall pour on his couch a softened ray. 
And his mantle shall wave in the flowing tide, 
And the little fishes shall turn aside j 
But the waves and the tides of the sea shall cease, 
Ere wakes her love from his bed of peace. 
No home ! — no kiss ! — No, never ! never ! 
His couch is spread for ever and ever. 



200 THE QUEEN'S night in. 

The abbot arose in dumb dismay, 
They turned and fled from the height away, 
For dark and portentous was the day. 
When they c-ime in view of tlieir roclcing sail, 
They saw an old man who sat on the wale j 
His beard was long, and silver gray. 
Like the rime that falls at the break of day j 
His locks like wool, and his colour wan, 
And he scarcely looked like an earthly man. 

They asked his errand, thpy asked his name, 
Whereunto bound, and whence he came ;' 
But a sullen thoughtful silPiice he kept, 
And turned his face to the sea and wept. 
Some gave him welcome, and some gave him scorn, 
But the abbot stood pale, with terrour o'erborne j 
He tried to be jocund, but trembled the more, 
For he thought he had seen the face before. 

Away went the ship with her canvas all spread, 
iSo glad to escape from that island of dread ; 
And skimmed the blue wave like a streamer of 

light. 
Till fell the dim veil 'twixt the day and the night. 

Then the old man arose and stood up on the 

prow, 
And fixed his dim eyes on the ocean below ; 
And they heard him saying, " Oh, wo is me ! 
But great as the sin must the sacrifice be." 
Oh, mild was his eye, and his manner sublime, 
When he looked unto heaven, and said—" JVow ii 

the time." 



liight III. WAKE. 201 

He looked to the weather, he looked to the lee, 
He looked as for somethiog he dreaded to see, 
Then stretched his pale hand, and pointed his eye 
To a gleam on the verge of the eastern sky. 

The monks soon beheld, on the lofty Ben-More, 
A sight which they never had seen before, 
A belt of blue lightning around it wys driven, 
And its crown was encircled by morion of heaven j 
And they heard a herald that loud did cry, 

Prepare the way for the Abbot of I !" 

Then a sound arose, they knew not where, 
It came from the sea, or it came from the air, 
'Twas louder than tempest that ever blew. 
And the sea-fowls screamed, and in terrourflew ; 
Some ran to the cords, some kneeled at the !=hrine. 
But all the wild elements seemed to combine ; 
'Twis just but one moment of stir and commotion, 
And down went the ship like a bird of the ocean. 

This moment she sailed all stately and fair, 
The next nor ship nor shadow was there, 
But a boil that arose from the deep below, 
A mounting gurgling column of snow ; 
It sunk away with a murmuring moan. 
The sea is Q^!Da> and the sinners are gone. 



is^jpa, 



END OF NIGHT THE THIRD, 



CONCLUSION. 



CONCLUSION 



Friend of the bard ! peace to thy heart, 
Long hast tliou acted a generous part, 
Long hast thou courteously in pain 
Attended to a feeble strain, 
While oft abashed has sunk thine eye, — 
Thy task is done, the Wake is by. 

I saw thy fear, I knew it just ; 
■'Twas not for minstrels long in dust, 
But for the fond and venturous swaio 
Who dared to wake their notes again ; 
Yet oft thine eye has spoke delight, 
I marked it well, and blest the sight : 
No sour disdain, nor manner cold. 
Noted contempt for tales of old j 
Oft hast thou at the fancies smiled, 
And marvelled at the legends wild. 
Thy task is o'er j peace to thy heart ! 
For thou hast acted a generous part. 
19 



206 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 

'Tis said that thirty bards appeared, 
That thirty names were registered, 
With whom were titled chiefs combined, 
But some are lost, and some declined. 
V\^o's me, that all my mountain lore 
Has been unfit to rescue more ! 
And that my guideless rustick skill 
Has told those ancient tales so ill. 

The prize Harp still hung on the wall ; 
The bards were warned to leave tJie hall, 
Till courtiers gave the judgment true, 
To whom the splendid prize was due. 
What curious wight will pass with me, 
The anxious motley group e to see ; 
List their remarks of right and wrong. 
Of skilful hand and faulty song. 
And drink one glass the bards among ? 

There sit the men — behold them there, 
Made maidens quake and courtiers stare. 
Whose names shall future ages tell ; 
What do they seem p beliold them well. 
A simpler race you shall not see. 
Awkward and vain as men can be ; 
Light as the fumes of fervid wine, 
Or foam-bells floating on the brine, 
The gossamers in air that sail. 
Or down that dances in the gale. 

Each spoke of others' fame and skill 
With high applause, but jealous will. 



CONCLUSION. 1J07 

Eacli song, each strain, he erst had known, 
And all had faults except his own : 
Plaudits were mixed with meaning jeers, 
For all had hopes, and all had fears. 

A herald rose, the court among, 
And named each bard and named his song : 
Rizzio was named from royal chair — 
*' Rizzio !" re-echoed many a fair. 
Each song had some that song approved, 
And voices gave for bard beloved. 
The first division called and done, 
Gardyn stood highest just by one. 

Queen Mary reddened, wroth was she 
Her favourite ttius outdone to see. 
Reproved her squire ui high disdain, 
And caused him call the votes again. 
Strange though it seem, the truth I say, 
Feature of that unyielding day. 
Her favourite's voters counted o'er, 
Were found much fewer than before. 
Glistened her eye with pungent dew : 
She found with whom she had to do. 

Again the royal gallery rung 
With names of those who second sung. 
When, spite of haughty Highland blood. 
The Bard of Ettrick upmost stood. 

The rest were named who sung so late., 
And after long and keen debate^ 



208 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 

The specious nobles of the south 
Carried the nameless stranger youth ; 
Thougli Highland wrath w:is at the full, 
Contending for the Bard of Mull. 

Then did the worst dispute beginj 
Which of the three the piize should -win. 
'Twas party all — not minstrel worth, 
But honour of the south and north ; 
And nought was heard ihoughout the court, 
But taunt, and sneer, and keen retort. 
High run the words, and fierce the fume, 
And from beneath each nodding phr.ne 
Red look was cast that vengeance said. 
And palm on broad sword's hilt was laid, 
While Lowland jeer, and Highland mood. 
Threatened to end the Wake in blood. 

Rose from his seat the Lord of Mar, 
Serene in counsel as in war. 
. " For shame," said he, " contendants all ! 
This outiage done in royal hall, 
Is to our country foul disgrace. 
What I mock our Sovereign to her face ! 
^Vhose generous heart and taste ref.ncd, 
Alike to bard and courtier kind. 
This high repast for all designed. 
For sliame ! your party strife suspend, 
And list the counsel of a friend. 

- " Unmeet it is for you or me 
To lessen one of all the three, 
Eacli excellent iiThis degree \ 



CONCLUSION. 209 

But taste, as sapient sages tell, 
Varies with climes in which we dwell. 

" Fair emblem of the Border dale, 
Is cadence soft and simple talej 
While stem romantick Highland clime, 
Still nourishes the rude sublime. 

" If Border ear may taste the worth 
Of the wild pathos of the north, 
Or that sublimed by Ossian's lay, 
By forest dark, and mountain gray, 
By clouds which frowning cliffs deforro, 
By roaring flood and raving storm, 
Enjoy the smooth, the fairy tale. 
Or evening song of Teviotdale ; 
Then trow you may the tides adjourn, 
And nature from her path-way turn j 
The wild- duck drive to mountain tree, 
The capperkayle to swim the sea. 
The heath-cock to the shelvy shore, 
The partridge to the mountain hoar. 
And bring the red-eyed ptarmigan 
To dwell by the abodes of man. 

'• To end this strife, unruled and vain, 
Let all the three be called again ; 
Their skill alternately be tried. 
And let the Queen alone decide. 
Then hushed be jeer and answer proud,"— 
He said, aad all, consentijig, bowed. 



210 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 

When word was brought to bard's retreat, 
The groupe were all in dire debate ; 
The Border youth (that stranger wight) 
Had quarrelled with the clans outright : 
Had placed their merits out of ken, 
Deriding both the songs and men. 
'Tis said — but few the charge believes,— 
He branded them as fools and thieves. 
Certes that war and wo had been, 
For gleaming dirks unsheathed were seen, 
The Highland minstrels ill could brook 
His taunting word and haughty look. 

The youth was chafed, and with disdain 
Refused to touch his harp again ; 
Said he desired no more renown 
Than keep those highland boasters down \ 
Jfow he had seen them quite undone, 
The south had two, the north but one ; 
But should they bear the prize away. 
For that he should not, would not play ; 
He cared for no such guerdon mean, 
iVor for the harp, nor for the Queen. 

His claim withdrawn, the victors twain 
Repaired to prove tlieir skill again. 

The song that tuneful Gardyn sung 
Is still admired by old and young, 
And long shall be at evening fold, 
While songs are sung or tales are told. 
Of stolen delights began the song. 
Of love the Carron woods among. 



CONCLUSION. 211 

Of lady borne from Carron side 
To Barnard towers and halls of pride, 
Of jealous lord and doubtful bride, 
And ended with Gilmorice' doom 
Cut off in manhood's early bloom. 
Soft rung the closing notes and slow, 
\nd every heart was steeped in wo. 

The harp of Ettrick rung again, 
Her bard, intent on fairy strain, 
And fairy freak by moonlight shaw, 
Suiig young Tarn Lean of Carterha'. 

Queen Mary's harp on high that hung. 
And every tone responsive rung, 
With gems and gold that dazzling shone, 
That harp is to the Highlands gone. 
Gardyn is crowned with garlands gay, 
And bears the envied prize away. 
Long, long that harp, the hills among. 
Resounded Ossian's mountain song ; 
Waked slumbering lyres from every tree 
Adown the banks of Don and Dee, 
At length was borne, by beauteous bride, 
To woo the airs on Garry side. 

When full two hundred years had fled, 
And all the northern bards were dead, 
That costly harp, of wonderous mould, 
Defaced of all its gems and gold, 
With that which Gardyn erst did play, 
Back to Dunedin found its way. 



212 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 

As Mary's hand the victor crowned, 
And twined the wreath his temples round, 
Loud were the shouts of Highland chief— 
The Lowlanders were dumb with grief j 
And the poor Bard of Ettrick stood 
Like statue pale, in moveless mood ; 
Like ghost, which oft his eyes had seen 
At gloaming in his glens so green. 
Queen Mary saw the minstrel's pain, 
And bade from bootless grief refrain. 

She said a boon to him should fall 
Worth all the harps in royal hall ; 
Of Scottish song a countless store, 
Precious remains of minstrel lore. 
All cottage, by a silver rill. 
Should all reward his rustick skill : 
Did other gift his bosom claim. 
He needed but that gift to name. 

" O, my fair Queen," the minstrel said, 
With faltering voice and hanging head, 
*' Your cottage keep, and minstrel lore,-^ 
Grant me a harp, I ask no more. 
From thy own hand a lyre 1 crave, 
That boon alone my heart can save." 

" Well hast thou asked ; and be it known, 
I have a harp of old renown 
Hath many an ardent wight beguiled ; 
'Twas framed by wizard of the wild, 



CONCLUSION. 213 

And will not yield one measure bland 
Beneath a skiiless stranger hand ; 
But once her powers by progress found, 
O there is magick in the sound ! 

" When worldly woes oppress thy heart,"-^- 
And thou and all must share a part, — 
Should scorn be cast from maiden's eye, 
Should friendship fail, or fortune dy, 
Steal with tliy harp to lonely brake. 
Her wild, her soothing numbers wake. 
And soon corroding cares shall cease, 
And passion's host be lulled to peace j 
Angels a gilded skreen shall cast, 
That cheers the future, veils the past. 

♦' That harp will make the elves of eve 
Their dwelling in the moon-beam leave, 
And ope thine eyes by haunted tree 
Their glittering tiny forms to fee. 
The flitting shades that woo the glea 
'Twill shape to forms of living men, 
To forms on earth no more you see, 
Who ouce were loved, and aye will be ; 
And holiest converse you may prove 
Of things l^low and things above." 

" That is, that is the harp for me !" 
Said the rapt bard In ecstasy ; 
*' This soothing, tiiis exhaustless store, 
Grant me, my Queen, I ask no more." 
20 



2U THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 

O, when the weieping minstrel laid 
The relick in his old gray plaid, 
When Holyrood he left behind 
To gain his hills of mist and wind, 
Never was hero of renown, 
Or monarch, prouder of his crown. 
He tript the vale, he Climbed tlie coomb. 
The mountain breeze began to boom j 
Aye when the inagick chords it rung. 
He raised his voice and blithely sung. 
*' Hush, my wild harp, t!iy notes forbear 3 
IVo blooming maids nor elves are here ; 
Forbear a while that witching tone, 
Thou must not, canst not sing alone. 
W n Summer flings her watchet skreen 
At f vc ®'er Ettrick woods so green. 
Thy notes shall many a heart beguile ; 
Young Beauty's eye shall o'er tiiee smile, 
And fairies trip it merrily 
Around my royal harp and me." 

Long has that harp of magick tone 
To all the minstrel world been known : 
Who has not heard her witching lays. 
Of Ettrick banks and Yarrow braes ? 
But that sweet bard, who sung and played 
Of many a feat and Border raid. 
Of Many a knight and lovely maid. 
When forced to leave his harp behind, 
Did all her tuneful chords unwind j 
And many ages past and came 
Ere man so well could tune the same. 



CONCLUSION. 21* 

Bangour the daring task essayed, 
Not half the chords his fingers played j 
Yet even then some thrilling lays 
Bespoke the harp of ancient days. 

Redoubted Ramsay's peasant skill 
Flung some strained notes along the hill j 
His was some lyre from lady's hall, 
And not the mountain harp at all, 

Langhorne arrived from Southern dale, 
And chimed his notes on Yarrow vale, 
They would not, could not, touch the heart j 
His was the modish lyre of art. 

Sweet ruag the harp to Logan's hand : 
Then Leyden came from Border land. 
With dauntless heart and ardour high. 
And wild impatience in his eye. 
Though false his tones at times might be, 
Though wild notes marred the symphony, 
Between, the glowing measure stole 
That spoke the bard's inspired soul. 
Sad were those strains, when hymn'd afar, 
On the green vales of Malabar : 
O'er seas beneath the golden morn. 
They travelled, on the monsoon borne, 
Thrilling the heart of Indian maid, 
Beneath the wild banana's shade. — 
Leyden ! a shepherd wails thy fate, 
A-nd Scotland knows her loss too late. 



216 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 

Tlie day arrived— blest be the day, 
Walter the abbot came that way ! — 
The sacred relick met his view — 
Ah ! well the pledge of heaven he knew ! 
He screwed the chords, he tried a strain j 
'Twas wild — he tuned and tried again, 
Then poured the numbers bold and free, 
The simple magick melody. 

The land was charmed to list his lays ; 
It knew the harp of ancient days. 
The Border chiefs, that long had been 
In sepulchres unhearsed and green, 
Passed from their mouldy vaults away, 
In armour red and stern array, 
And by theii' moonlight halls were seep, 
In visor helm, and habergeon. 
Even fairies sought our land again, 
So powerful was the magick strain. 

Blest be his generous heart for aye ! 
He told me where the relick lay j 
Pointed my way with ready will. 
Afar on Ettrick's wildest hill ; 
Watched ray first notes with curious eye, 
And wondered at my minstrelsy : 
He little weened a parent's tongue 
Such strains had o'er my cradle sung. 

O could the bard I loved so long, 
Reprove my foD4 aspiring song ! 



CONCLUSION. 

Or could his tongue of candour say,. 
That I bhould tliro^v my harp away ! 
Just when her notes ht'gan,'w4th'-«kill, 
To sound beneath tlie southern hill, 
And twine around my bosom's core, 
How coufd wc part for evermore ! 
'Twas kindness all, I cannot blame, 
For bootless is the minstrel flame ; 
But sure, a bard miglit well have known 
-Another's feelings by his own ! 

Of ciiange enamoured, wo the while ! 
He left our mountains, left the isle ; 
And far to other kingdoms bore 
The Caledonian harp of yore ; 
But, to t!ie hand that framed her true, 
Only by force one strain she tluew. 
That harp he never more shall see, 
Unless 'mong Scotland's hills with me. 



Now, my loved harp, a while farewell ; 

I leave thee on the old gray thorn ; 
The evening dews will mar thy swell, 

That waked to joy the cheerful more. 

Farewell, sweet sootlier of my wo ! 

Chill blows the blast around ray head ; 
And louder yet that blast may blow, 

When down this weary vale I've sped- 



218 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 

The wreath Vie? on Saint Mary'- ghore ; 

The mcuntain sounds ^re harsh and loud j 
Theloity brows of stern Clockmore 

Are visored with the moving cloud. 

But Winter's deadly hues shall fade 
On moorland bald and mountain shaw, 

And soon the rainbow's lovely sliade. 
Sleep on the breast of Bowerhope L"aw ; 

Then will the glowing suns of spring, 
The genial shower and stealing dew, 

Wake every forest bird to sing, 
And every mountain flower renew. 

But not the rainbow's ample ring, 

That spans the glen and mountain gray. 

Though fauaed by western breeze's wing, 
Afld sunned by summer's glowing ray, 

To man decayed, can ever more 
Renew the age of love and glee ! 

Can ever second spring restore 
To my old mountain Harp and me ! 

But when the hue of softened green 
Spreads over hill and lonely lea, 

And lowly primrose opes unseen 
Her virgin bosom to the bee ; 

When hawthorns breathe their odours fai;, 
And carols hail the year's return, 



CONCLUSION. 219 

And daisy spreads her silver star 
Unheeded by the mountain burn ; 

Then will I seek the aged thorn, 

The haunted wild and fairy ring, 
Where oft thy erring numbers borne 

Have- taught the wandering winds to sing. 



END OF THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 



NOTES. 



NOTES. 



Note I. 



Those makes, now played by minstrels poor. 
At midnighVs darkest, chillest hour, 
Those humble wakes, now scorned by all, 
Were first begun in courtly hall. — Page 4. 

In former days, the term Wake was only used to 
distinguish the festive meeting which took place 
on the evening previous to the dedication of any 
particular cliiirch or chapel. The company sat 
up all the night, and, in England, amused them- 
selves in various ways, as their inclinations were 
by habit or study directed. In Scotland, however, 
which was always the land of rausick and of song, 
musick and song were the principal, often the only, 
amusements of the Wake. These songs were 
generally of a sacred or serious nature, and were 
chaunted to the old simple melodies of the coun- 
try. The bush aboon Traquair, The Broom of 
Cowdenknmvs, John come kiss me now. and many 
others, are still extant, set to the Psalms of David, 
and other spiritual songs, the Psalms being turned 
into a rude metre corresponding to the varioas 
measures of the tuaes. 



224 NOTES TO THE 

The difference in the application of the terra 
\^hich exists in the two sister kingdoms, sufficiently 
explains the consequences of the wakes in either. 
In England they have given rise to many fairs and 
festivals of long standing ; and, from that origin, 
every fair or festival is denominated a wake. In 
Scotland the term is not used to distinguish any 
thing either subsistent or relative, save those sere- 
nades played by itinerant and nameless minstrels 
in the streets and squares of Edinburgh, which are 
inhabited by the great and wealthy, after mid- 
night, about the time of the Christmas holidays. 
These seem to be the only remainder of the an- 
cient wakes novsr in Scotland, and tlieir effect upon 
a mind that delights in musick is soothing and de- 
licious beyond all previous conception. A persqn 
who can relish the concord of sweet sounds, gradu-' 
ally recalled from sleep by the musick of the 
wakes, of which he had no previous anticipation,; 
never fails of being deprived, for a considerable 
time, of all recollection, what conditio^, wliat- 
place, or what world he is in. The minstiels vho, 
in the reign of the Stuarts,- enjoyed privileges 
which were even denied to the principal nobility, 
were, by degrees, driven from the tables of the 
great to the second, and afterwards to Uie common 
hall, that their musick and songs might be heard, 
while they themselves were unseen. From the 
common hall they were obliged to retire to the 
porch or court ; and so low has the character" 
of the minstrels descended, that the performers 

of the Christmas wakes are wholly unknown to 



QUEEN'S WAKE. 225 

the most part of those whom tliey serenade. They 
seem to be despised, but enjoy some small privi- 
leges, in order to keep up a name of high and 
ancient origin. 

Note 11. 

There, rode the lords of France and Spain ^ 
0/ England, Flanders, and Lorrain, 
miih serried thousands round them stood, 
From shore of Leith to Holyrood. — P. 7. 

Holliugshed describes Queen Maiy's landing 
in Scotland, with her early misfortunes and ac- 
complishments, after this manner: " She arrived 
at Leith the 20th of August, in the year of our 
Lord 1561, where she was honourably received 
by the Earl of Argyle, the Lord Erskine, the 
Prior of St. Andrews, and the burgesses of Edin- 
burgh, and conveyed to the Abbie of Holie-rood- 
house, for (as saith Buclianan) when some had 
spread abroad her landing in Scotland, the nobility 
and others assembled out of all parts of the realme, 
as it were to a common spectacle. 

"This did they, partly to congratulate her 
return, and partly to shew the dutie which they 
alwais bear unto her (when she was absent,) either 
to have thanks therefore, or to prevent the slan- 
ders of the enemies : wherefore not a few, by these 
beginnings of her reign, did gesse what would fol- 
low, although, in those so variable notions of the 
minds of the people, every one was very desirous 
to see their Queen offered unto them, (ualooked 



226 NOTES TO THE 

for,) after so many haps of both fortunes as had 
befallen her. For, when she was but six days old, 
she lost her father among the cruel tempests of 
battle, and was, with great diligence, brought up 
by her mother, (being a chosen and worthy person) 
but yet left as a prize to others, by reason of civil 
sedition in Scotland, and of outward wars with 
other nations, being further led abroad to all the 
dangers of frowning fortune, before she could 
know what evil did mean. 

" For leaving her own country, she was nour- 
ished as a banished person, and hardly preserved 
in life from the weapons of her enemies, and the 
violence of the seas. After which fortune began 
to flatter her, in that she honoured her with a 
worthy marriage, which, in truth, was rather a 
shadow of joie to this queen, than any comfort at 
all. For, shortly after the same, all things were 
turned to sori'ow, by the death of her new young 
husband, and of her old and grieved mother, by loss 
of her new kingdom, and by the doubtful posses- 
sion of her old heritable realme. But as for these 
things she was both pitied and praised, so was she 
also for gifts of nature as much beloved and fa- 
voured, in that beneBcial nature (or rather good 
God) had indued her with a beautiful face, a well 
composed body, an excellent wit, a mild nature, 
and good behaviour, which she had artificially 
furthered by courtly education, and affable de- 
meanor. Whereby, at the first sight, she wan unto 
iier the hearts of most, and confirmed the love of 



QUEEN'S WAKE. 227 

her faithful subjects."— fZbZL p. 314. Arbroath 
Edition. 

With regard to the mosick, which so deeply 
engaged her attention, yre have different accounts 
by contemporaries, and those at complete variance 
with one another. Knox says, *' Fyres of joy 
were set furth at night, and a companie of maist 
honest men, with instruments of musick, gave ther 
salutation at hir chalmer windo : the melodie, as 
sche alledged, lyked her weill, and sche willed the 
sam to be continued sum nychts efter with grit 
dilligence." But Dufresnoy, who was one of 
the party who accompanied the Queen, gives a 
very different account of these Scottish minstrels. 
" We landed at Leith," says he, " and went from 
thence to Edinburgh, which is but a short league 
distant. The Queen went there on horseback, 
and the lords and ladies who accompanied her 
upon the little wretched hackneys of the country, 
as wretchedly caparisoned j at sight of which 
the Queen began to weep, and to compare them 
with the pomp and superb palfreys of France. 
But there was no remedy but patience. What 
was worst of all, being arrived at Edinburgh, and 
retired to rest in the Abbey (which is really a 
line building, and not at all partaking of the rude- 
ness of that country,) there came under her win- 
dow a crew of five or six hundred scoundrels from 
the city, who gave her a serenade with wretched 
violins and little rebecks, of which there are 
enough in that country, and began to sing Psalms 
so nuserably mistimed and mistuned, that nothiD£ 



228 NOTES TO THE 

could be worse. Alas ! what musick ! and what 
a night's rest !" 

The Frenchman has had no taste for Scottish 
musick— such another concert is certainly not in 
record. 

Note III. 

Jh ! Kennedy., vengeance hangs over thine head ! 
Escape to thy native Glengarry forlorn. — P. 33. 

The Clan Kennedy was only in the present age 
finally expelled from Glen-Garry, and forced to 
scatter over this and other countries. Its cha- 
racter among the Highlanders, is that of the most 
savage and irreclaimable tribe that ever infested 
the mountains of the north. 



Note IV. 

The Witch of Fife.— 45. 

It may suffice to mention once for all, that the 
catastrophe of this tale, as well as the principal 
events related in the tales of Old David and 
ilf'Gre^or, are all founded on popular traditions. 
So is also the romantick story of Kilmeny's dis- 
appearance and revisiting her friends, after being 
seven years in Fairyland. The tradition bears 
some resemblance to the old ballads of Tarn Lean 
and Thomas of Erceldon ; and it is not improba- 
ble that all the tliree may have drawn tli^ir origin 
frofii the same ancient romance. 



QUEEN'S WAKE. 229 

Note V. 

Glm-Avin—V. 66. 

There are many scenes among the Grampian 
deserts which amaze the traveller who ventures 
to explore them ; and in the most pathless wastes 
the most striking landscapes are often concealed. 
Glen-Avin exceeds them all ia what may be 
termed stern and solemn grandeur. It is indeed a 
sublime solitude, in which the principal feature 
is deformity ; yet that deformity is mixed with 
lines of wild beauty, such as an extensive lake, 
with its islets and bays, the straggling trees, and 
the spots of shaded green ; and altogether it is 
such a scene as man has rarely looked upon. I 
spent a summer day in visiting it. The hills were 
clear of mist, yet the heavens were extremely 
dark — the effect upon the scene exceeded all 
description. My mind, during the whole day, 
experienced the same sort of sensation as if I had 
been in a dream ; and on returning from the ex- 
cursion, I did not wonder at the superstition of the 
neiglibburing inhabitants, who believe it to be the 
summer haunt of innumerable tribes of fairies, and 
many other spirits, some of whom seem to be the 
most fantastick, and to behave in the most eccen- 
trick manner, of any I ever before heard of. 
Thougli the glen is upwards of twenty miles in 
length, and of prodigious extent, it contains no 

21 



230 JN'OTES TO THE 

Imman habitation. It lies in the west corner of 
Banffshire, in the very middle of the Grampian 
hills. 

Note VI. 

Oft had that sear, at break of morn, 

Beheld the fahni glide o''er the fell. — P. 6t. 

Faiioi is a little ugly monster, who frequents 
the summits of the mountains, around Glen-Avin, 
and no other place in the world that I know of. 
My guide, D. M'Queen, declared that he had 
himself seen him, and, by his description, Fahm 
appears to be no native of this world, but an oc- 
casional visitant, whose intensions are evil and 
dangerous. He is only seen about the break of 
day, and on the highest verge of the mountain. 
His head is twice as large as his whole body be- 
side ; and if any living creature cross the track 
over which he has passed before the sun shine up- 
on it, certain death is the consequence. The head 
of that person or animal instantly begins to swell, 
grows to an immense size, and finally bursts. Such 
a disease is really incident to sheep on those 
heights, and in several parts of the kingdom, 
where tlie grounds are elevated to a great height 
above the sea ; but in no place save Glen-Avin is 
Fahm blamed for it. 



QUEEN'S WAKE. 231 



Note VII. 

Even far on Yarrow''s fairy dale, 
The shepherd paused in dumb dismay, 

And passing shrieks adonm the vale 

Lured many a pitying hind away. — P. 69. 

It was reckoned a curious and unaccountable 
circumstance, that, during the time of a great fall 
of suow by night, a cry, as of a person who had 
lost his way in the storna, was heard along the 
vale of Ettrick from its head to its foot. Wliat 
was the people's astonishment, when it was authen- 
ticated, that upwards of twenty parties had all 
been out with torches, lanthorns, &c. at the same 
hour of the night, calling and searching after some 
unknown person, whom they believed perishing in 
the snow, and that none of them had discovered 
any such person — the word spread ; the circum- 
stances were magnified — and the consternation be- 
came general. The people believed that a whole 
horde of evil spirits had been abroad in the valley, 
endeavouring to lure them abroad to their destruc- 
tion — there was no man sure of his life ! — prayers 
and thanksgivings were offered up to heaven in 
every hamlet, and resolutions unanimously form- 
ed, that no man perishing in the snow should 
ever be looked after again as long as the world 
stood. 

When the astonishment had somewhat subsided 
by exhausting itself, and the tale of horrour spread 
too wide ever to be recalled, a lad, without the 



232 NOTES TO THE 

smallest referrence to the phenomenon, chanced lo " 
mention, that on the night of the storm, when he 
was out on the hill turning his sheep to some 
shelter, a flock of swans passed over his head to- 
ward the western sea, which was a sure signal of 
severe weather ; and that at intervals they were 
always sliouting and answering one another, in an 

extraordinary, and rather fearsome manner. 

It was an unfortunate discovery, and mari-ed the 
harmony of many an evening's conversation ! In 
whatever cot the circumstance was mentioned, the 
old shepherds rose and went out — tl\e younkers, 
who had listened to the prayers witli reverence 
and fear, bit their lips — the matrons plied away 
at their wheels in silence — it was singular that 
none of them should have known the voice of a 
swan from that of the devil I — they were very 
angry with the lad, and regarded him as a sort of 
blasphemer. 

Note VIII. 

See yon lone cairn so gray yvitk age, 

Jbove the base of proud Cairn-Gorm—F. 71. 

I only saw this old cairn at a distance ; but the 
narrative which my guide gave me of the old 
man's loss was very affecting. He had gone to 
the forest in November to look after some goats 
that were missing, when a dreadful stoim came 
suddenly ou, the effects of which were felt through- 
out the kingdom. It v.as well enou^ii known that 



aUEEN'S WAKE. 233 

he was lost in the forest, but the snow being so 
deep, it was judged impossible to find the body, 
and no,;one looked after it. It was not discovered 
until the harvest following, when it was found ac- 
cidentally by a shepherd. The plaid and clothes 
which were uppermost not being decayed, it ap- 
peared like the body of a man lying entire ; but 
when he began to move them, the dry bones rat- 
tled together, and tlie bare white scull was lying 
in the bonnet. 



Note IX. 

Old David~F. 74. 

I remember hearing a very old man, named 
David Laidlaw, who lived somewhere in the 
neighbourhood of Hawick, relate many of the 
adventures of this old mosstrooper, his great pro- 
genitor, and the first who ever bore the name. He 
described him as a great champion — a man quite 
invincible, and quoted several verses of a ballad 
relating to him, which I never heard either before 
or since, 1 remember only one of them : 

There was ane banna of barley meal 
am duntin dune by Davy's shell, 
But out cam Da%'y and his lads, 
And dang the banna a' in blads. 

He explained how this " bannock of barley meal" 
meant a rich booty, which the old hero captured 



234 NOTES TO THE 

from a band of marauders. He lived at Garwell 
ia Eskdale-moor. 

Lochy-Lavv, where the principal scene of this 
tale is laid, is a hill on the lands of Shorthope in 
the wilds of Ettrick. The Fairy Slack is up in 
the middle of the hill, a very curious ravine, and 
would be much more so when orershadowed with 
wood. The Back-burn which joins the Ettrick 
immediately below this hill, has been haunted 
time immemorial, both by the fairies, and the 
ghost of a wandering minstrel who was cruelly 
murdered there, and who sleeps in a lone grave a 
small distance from the ford. 



Note X. 

And fears ofdf and fairy raid. 

Have like a morning dream decayed. — P. 86. 

The fairies have now totally disappeared, and 
it is a pity they should ; for they seem to have 
been the most delightful little spirits that ever 
haunted the Scottish dells. There are only very 
few now remaining alive who have ever seen 
them ; and when they did, it was on Hallow-eve- 
nings while they were young, when the gospel was 
not very rife in the country. But, strange as it 
may appear, with the witches it is far otherwise. 
Never, in the most snperstitious ages, was the ex- 
istence of witches, or the influence of tlieir diabol- 
ical power, more firmly believed in, than by the 
inhabitants of the mountains of Ettrick Forest at 



QUEEN'S WAKE. 235 

llie present day. Many precautions and charms 
are used to avert this influence, and scarcely does 
a summer elapse in which there are not some of 
the most gross incantations practised, in order to 
free flocks and herds from the blasting power of 
these old hags. There are two farmers still 
living, who will both make oath that they have 
wounded several old wives w^ith shot as they were 
traversing the air in the shapes of moor-fowl and 
partridges, — A very singular amusement that for 
old wives !- I heard one of these g-enfiemen relate, 
with the utmost seriousness, and as a matter he 
did not wish to be generally known, that one 
morning, going out a fowling, he sprung a pair of 
raoovfowl in a place where it was. not customary 
for moor-fowl to stay — he fired at the hen^ — 
wounded her, and eyed her until she alighted 
beyond an old dike — when he went to the spot^ 
Ills astonishment may be well conceived, when he 

found Nell , picking the hail out of her limbs! 

He was extremely vexed that he had not shot the 
cock, for he was almost certain he was no othe 
than Wattie Grieve ! ! ! 

The tales and anecdotes of celebrated witches 
that are still related in the country, are extrenje- 
ly whimsical and diveiting. The following is 3 
Tvell auihenticated one. A number of gentlemea 
were one day met for a chase on tlie lands of New- 
house and Kirkhope — their greyhounds were nu- 
merous and keen, but not a hare could they raise. . 
At length a boy came to them, who offered to 
start a hare to them, if they would give him a 



236 NOTES TO THE 

guinea, and the black greyhound to hold. The 
demand was shigular, but it was peremptory, and 
on other conditions he would not comply. The 
guerdon was accordingly paid — the hare was 
started, and the sport afforded by the chase was 
excellent — the greyhounds were all baffled, and 
began to give up one by one, when one of the par- 
ty came slyly behind the boy, and cut the leish in 
which he held the black dog — away he flew to 
join the chase. — The boy, losing all recollection, 
ran, bawling out with great vociferation, "Huy, 
mither, rin ! ! Hay, riu, ye auld witch, if ever 
ye ran i' yer life ! ! Rin, mither, rin ! !" The 
"black dog came fast up with her, and was just 
beginning to mouth her, when she sprung in at the 
window of a little cottage and Escaped. 1 he ri- 
ders soon came to the place, and entered the cot 
in search of the hare; but lo ! there was no living 
creature there hut the old woman lying panting in 
a bed, so breathless that she could not speak a 
word ! ! ! Y- 

But the' best old witch tale that remains, is ^ 
tliat which is related of the celebrated Michael ,, 
Scott, Master' of Oakwad. Mr Falter Scott 
has preserved it, but so altered from the original 
way, that it is not easy to recognize it. The 
old people tell it as follows: There was one of ■jy 
Mr. Michael's tenants who had a wife that was 
the most notable witch of the age. So extraordi- ; 
nary were her' powers, that the country people 
began to put them in competition with those of 
tbe Master, and say, that in some cantrips she 



QUEEN'S WAKE. 237 

surpassed him. Michael could ill brook such in- 
sinuations ; for there is always jealousy between 
great characters, and went over one day with his 
dogs on pretence of hunting, but in reality with aa 
intent of exercising some of his infernal power in 

the chastisement of Lucky (I have the 

best reason in the world for concealing her reputed 
name.) He found her alone in the field weeding 
lint ; and desired her, in a friendly mauner, t© 
show him some of her powerful art. She was 
very angry with him, and denied that she had any 
supernatural skill. He, however, continuing to 
press her, slie told him sharply to let her alone, 
else she would make him repent the day he trou- 
bled her. How she perceived the virtues of Mi- 
chael's wand is not known, but iu a moment she 
snatched it from his liand, and gave him three 
lashes with it. The knight was momently chan- 
ged to a hare, when the malicious and inveterate 
hag cried out, laughing, " Shu. Michael, rin or 
dee !" and bailed all his own dogs upon him. 
He WIS extremely hard hunted, and was obliged 
to swim the rivci*, and take shelter in the sewer 
of his own cnstle from the fury of his pursuers, 
where he got leisure to change himself again, to a 
man. 

Michael being extremely chagrined at having; 

been thus outwitted, studied a deadly revenge j 

and going over afterwards cO hw)t, he sent his mart 

to Fauldshope to borrow so^e V)i'ead from Lucky 

-> -rive to Ills dogs, fbV thai he had nejlcctr-l 



238 NOTES TO THE 

to feed them before he came from home. If she 
gave liimthc bread, he was to tliank her and come 
away ; but if she refused it> he gave him a line 
written in red characters, whicii he was to lodge 
above the lintel as he came out. The servant 
found lier baking of bread, as his master assured 
him he wonld, and delivered his message. She 
received him most ungraciously, and absolutely 
Tefused to give him any bread, alleging, as an ex- 
cuse, that she had not as much as would serve her 
own reapers to dinner. The man said no more, 
but lodged the line as directed, and returned to 
iiis master. The powerful spell had the desired 

effect J Lucky instantly threw off her 

clothes, and danced round and round the fire like 
one quite mad, singing the while with great glee, 

" Master Micliael Scott's man 
Cam seekin bread an' gat naiie." 

The dinner hour arrived, but the reapers looked 
in vain for their dame, who was wont to bring it 
•to them to the field. The goodman sent home a 
servant girl to assist her, but neither did she re- 
ctum. At length he ordered them to go and take 
Iheir dinner at home, for he suspected his spouse 
iiad taken some of her iirravies. All of them 
went inadvertently into tlie house, and, as soon 
as they passed beneath the mighty charm, were 
seized with the same mania, and followed the ex- 
ample of their mistress. The goodman, who had 
tarried behind, setting some shocks of corn, came 



QUEEN'S WAKE. 239 

home last ; and hearing the n©i?e ere ever he 
caine near the houj»e, he did not venture to go 
in, but peeped in at the window. There he be- 
held all his people dancing naked round and round 
the fire, and singing, " Master Michael Scott's 
man," with the most frantick wildness. Kis wife 
was by that time quite exhausted, and the rest 
were half trailing her around. She could only 
now and then pronounce a syll ible of the song, 
which she did with a kind of scream, yel seemed 
as intent on the gport as ever. 

The goodman mounted his horse, and rode with 
all speed to the master, to inquire what he had 
done to his people which had put them all mad. 
Michael bade him take down the note from the 
lintel and burn it, which he did, and all the peo- 
ple returned to their senses. Poor Lucky 

died overnight, and Michael remained unmatched 
and alone in all the arts of enchantment and ne- 
cromancy. 



Note XT. 

The Spectre's Cradle Song.— ¥. 91. 

I mentioned formerly that the tale of M'Gfe- 
goris founded on a popular Highland tiadition— 
so also is this Song of the Spectre in the introduc- 
tion to it, which, to me at least, gives it a peculiar 
interest. As I was once travelling up Glen-Do 
chart, attended by Donald Fisher, a shepherd ef 



240 NOTES TO THE 

ihat country, he pointed out to me some curious 
green dens, by the side of the large rivulet which 
descends from the back of Ben More, the name 
of wliich, in the Gaelick language, signifies theabode 
of the fairies. A native of that country, who is 
still living, happened to be benighted there one 
summer evening, without knowing that the place 
was haunted, wrapped himself in his plaid, and 
}ay down to sleep till the morning. About mid- 
night he was awaked by the most enchanting mu- 
sick J and, on listening, he heard it to be the voice 
of a woman singing to her child. She sung the 
verses twice over, so that next morning he had 
several of them by heart. Fisher had heard them 
often recited in Gaelick, and he said they were 
■wild beyond human conception. He remembered 
only a few lines, which were to the same purport 
with the Spirit's Song here inserted, namely, that 
she (the singer) had brought her babe from the 
regions below to be cooled by the breeze of the 
world, and that they would soon be obliged to 
part, for the child was going to heaven, and she 
was to remain for a season in purgatory. I had 
BOt before heard any thing so truly romaatick. 



WEEN'S WAKE. 241 



Note XII. 

That the pine, which for ages had shed a bright halo, 
Afar on the mountains of Highland Glen-Faloy 
Should tvither and fall ere the turn of yon moony 
i>mit through hy the canker of hated Colquhoon. — 

P. 95. 
The pine was the standard, and is still the crest 
of the M'Gregors; and it is well known that the 
proscription of that clan was occasioned by a 
slaughter of the Colquhoons, who were its con- 
stant and inveterate enemies. That bloody busi- 
ness let loose the vengeance of the country upon 
them, which had nearly extirpated the name. 
The Campbells and the Grahams arose and hunted 
them down like wild beasts, until a M'Gregor 
could no more be found. 

Note XIII. 

Earl Walter.—F. 99. 

This ballad is founded on a well known histo* 
xlcal fact. Holliiigshed mentions it slightly in 
the foilowing words : " A Frenchman named Sir 
Antliony Darcie, knight, called afterwards Le Sir 
de la Barvtie, came through England into Scot- 
land, to seek feats of arms. And coming to the 
king the four and twentie of September, the Lord 
Hamilton fought with him right valiantly, and so 
as neither of them lost any piece of honour." 



242 NOTES TO THE 



Note XIV. 



From this the H-">m lions of Clyde j 
Their roy >l linruge dram. — F. 110. 

The Princess Margaret of Scotland was married 
to the Lord Hamilton wlieu only sixteen years of 
age, who received the earldom of Arran as her 
dowry. Hoiiingshed says, ••' Of this m^irriage, 
those of the house of Hamilton arc desiersded, 
and are nearest of blood to the crown oi Scotland, 
as they pretend ; for (as saith Lesleus, lib. viii. 
p. 316,) it 'he line of the Stewards fail, the crown 
is to come to them." 



Note XV. 
Kilmeny—P. 112. 

Beside the old tradition on which this ballad is 
founded, there are some modern incidents of a 
similar nature, which cannot well be accounted 
for, yet are as well attested as any occurrence 
that has taken place in the present age. The 
relation may be amusing to some readers. 

A man in the parish of Traquair, and county of 
Peebles, was busied one day casting turf in a large 
open field opposite to the mansion- house — the spot 
is well known, and still pointed out as rather un- 
safe ; — his daughter, a child of seven years of age, 
was playing beside him, and amusing him with her 



QUEEN'S WAKE. 243 

prattle. Chancing to ask a question at her, he 
was surprised at receiving no answer, and, looking 
behind hira, he perceived that his child was not 
there. He always averred that, as far as he could 
remember, she had been talking to him about half 
a minute before ; he was certain it was not above 
a whole one at most. It was in vain that he ran 
searching all about like one distracted, calling her 
name ; — no trace of her remained. He went home 
in a state of mind that may be better conceived 
than expressed, and raised the people of the parish, 
who searched for her several days with the same 
success. Every pool in the river, every bush and 
den on the mountains around was searched in vain. 
It was remarked that the father never much en- 
couraged the search, being thoroughly persuaded 
that she was carried away by some invisible being, 
else she could not have vanished so suddenly. 
As a last resource, he applied to the minister of 
Inverlethen, a neighbouring divine of exemplary 
piety and zeal in religious matters, who enjoined 
him to cause prayers to be offered to God for her 
in seven christian churches, next Sabbath, at the 
same instant of time; " and then," said he, " if 
«he is dead, God will forgive our sin in praying for 
the dead, as we do it through ignorance ; and if 
she is still alive, I will answer for it, that all the 
devils in hell shall be unable to keep her." The 
injunction was punctually attended to. She wa« 
remembered in the prayers of all the neighbouring 
congregations, next Sunday, at the same hour, and 



244 NOTES TO THE 

never were there such prayers for fervour heard 
before. There was one divine in particular, Mr. 
Davidson, who prayed in such a manner that all 
the hearers trembled. As the old divine fore- 
boded, so it fell out. On that very day, and within 
an hour of the time on which these prayers were 
offered, the girl was found, in the Flora wood, sit- 
ting, picking the bark from a tree. She could 
give no perfect account of the circumstances which 
had befallen to her, but she said she did not want 
plenty of meat, for that her mother came and fed 
her witli milk and bread several times a day, and 
sung her to sleep at night. Her skin had acquired 
a bluish cast, wiiich wore gradually off in the 
course of a few we*;ks. Her name was Salton, — 
she lived to be the mother of a family. 

Another circumstance, though it happened still 
later, is not less reraaj'kable. A shepherd of Tushi- 
law, in the parish of Ettrick, whose name was Wal- 
ter Dalgleish, went out to the heights of that farm, 
one Sabbath morning, to herd the young sheep for 
his son, and let him go to church. He took his 
own dinner along with him, and his son's breakfast. 
When the sei mons were over, the lad went straight 
home, and did not return to his father. Night 
came, but notliing of the old shepherd appeared. 
When it grew very late his dog came home — seem- 
ed terrified, and refused to take any meat. The 
family were ill at ease during the night, especially 
as they never had known his dog leave him before; 
and early next aiorning the lad arose and went to 



aUEEN'S WAKE. 245 

the height to look after his father and his flock. 
He found his sheep all scattered, and his father's 
dinner unhroken, lying on the same spot where 
they had parted the day before. At the distance 
of 20 yards from the spot, the plaid which the old 
man wore was lying as if it had been flung from 
him, and a little farther on, in the same direction, 
his bonnet was found, but nothing of himself. The 
country people, as on all such occasions, rose in 
great numbers, and searched for him many days. 
My father, and several old men still alive, were of 
the party. He could not be found or heard of, 
neither dead nor alive, and at length they gave up 
all thoughts of ever seeing him more. 

On the 20th day after his disappearance, a shep- 
herd's wife, at a place called Berry-bush, came in 
as the family was sitting down to dinner, and said, 
that if it were possible to believe that \Valter Dal- 
gleish was still in existence, she would say yonder 
was he coming down the hill. They all ran out 
to watch the phenomenon, and as the person ap- 
proaclied nigher, Ihey perceived that it was actu- 
ally he, walking without his plaid an*] his bonnet. 
The place where he was first descried is not a mile 
distant from that where he w-as last seen. When 
he came into the house, lie shook hands-with them 
all — asked for his family, and spoke as if he had 
been absent for years, and. as if convinced some- 
thing had befallen them. As they perceived 
something singular in his looks and manner, they 
unfortunately forbore asking hira any questions at 



246 NOTES TO THE 

first, but desired him to sit and siiare their dinner. 
This he readiiy complied with, and began to sup 
some broth with seeming eagerness. He had only 
taken one or two spoonfuls, when he suddenly 
stopped, a kind of rattling noise was heard in his 
breast, and he sunk back in a faint. They put 
him to b?d, and from that time forth, he never 
spoke another word that any person could mate 
sense of. He was removed to his own home, 
wliere he lingered a few weeks, and then died. 
What befel him remains to this day a mystery, 
and for ever must. 



Note XVI. 

Bui oft the listening groups stood stilly 
For spirits talked along the hill. — P. 131. 

The echoes of the evening, which are occasioned 
by the voices or mirth of dKferent parties not 
aware of each other, have a curious and striking 
effect. I liave known some country people terri- 
6ed almost out of their senses at hearing voices 
and laughter among cliffs, where they knew it im- 
possible for human being to reach. Some of the 
echoes around Edinburgh are extremely grand j 
what would they then be were the hills covered 
with wood ? I have witnessed nothing more ro- 
raantick than from a situation behind the Plea- 
rance, where all the noises of the city are com- 
pletely hushed, to hear the notes of the drum, 



QUEEN'S WAKE. 247 

triirapot, ^u6 '-.ugle, poured from the cliffs of 
Saii>:;'>.; v •.it* the viewless cannons thundering 
from the rock. The effect is truly sublime. 



Note XVII. 

Mary Scott.—?. 133. 

This ballad is founded on the old song of The Gray 
Goss Hnri'k The catastiopbe is the same, and 
happens at the same place, namely, in St. Mary's 
church-yard. The castle of Tushilaw, where the 
chief scene of the tale is laid, stood on a shelve of 
the hill which overlooks the junction of the rivers 
Ettrick and Rankleburn. It is a singular sitaa- 
tion, and seems to have been chosen for the exten- 
sive prospect of the valley which it commands 
both to the east and west. It was the finest old 
baronial castle of which the Forest can boast, but 
the upper arches and turrets fell in, of late years, 
with a crash that alarmed the whole neighbour- 
hood. It is now a huge heap of ruins. Its last 
inhabitant was Adam Scott, who was long denomi- 
nated in the south the King of the Border^ but the 
courtiers called him the King of Thieves. King 
James V. acted upon the same principle with these 
powerful chiefs, most of whom disregarded his 
authority, as Bonaparte has done with the sove- 
reigns of Europe, He always managed matters 
so as to take each of them single-handed — made a 
rapid and secret march— overthrew one or two of 



248 NOTES TO THE 

them, and then returned directly home till matters 
were ripe for taking tlie advantage of some other. 
He marched on one day from Edinburgh to Meg- 
gatdale, accompanied by a chosen body of horse- 
men, surprised Perez Cockburn, a bold and capri- 
cious outlaw who tyrannized over those parts, 
hanged him over his own gate, sacked and burnt 
his castle of Henderland, and divided his lands 
between two of his principal followers. Sir James 
Stuart and the Lord Hume. From Henderland 
he marched across the mountains by a wild unfre- 
quented path, still called the King's Road, and 
appeared before the gates of Tushilaw about sun- 
rise. Scott was completely taken by surprise; 
he, however, rushed to arms with his few friends 
who were present, and, after a desperate but une- 
qual conflict. King James overcame him, plundered 
his castle of riches and stores to a prodigious 
amount, hanged the old Borderer king over a huge 
tree which is stil! growing in the corner of the 
castle yard, and over which he himself had hanged 
many a one, carried his head with him in triumph 
to Edinburgh, and placed it on a pole over one of 
the ports. There was a long and deadly feud 
between the Scotts and the Kers in those daysj 
the Pringles, Murrays, and others around, always 
joined with the latter, in order to keep down the 
too powerful Scotts, who were not noted as the 
best of neighbours. 



QUEEN'S WAKE. 249 



Note XVIII. 

King' Edward^ s Dream.—?. 162. 

The scene of this ballad is on the banks of the 
Eden in Cumberland, a day's march back from 
Burgh, on the sands of Solway, where I^ng Ed- 
ward I. died, in the midst of an expedition against 
the Scots, in which he had solemnly sworn to ex- 
tirpate them as a nation. 



Note XIX. 

Dumlanrig.—P. 170. 

This ballad relates to a well-known historical 
fiict, of which tradition has preserved an accurate 
and feasible detail. The battles took place two 
or three years subsequent to the deatji of King 
James V. I have heard that it is su'^cinctly relat- 
ed by some historian, but I have forgot who it is. 
HoUingslied gives a long bungling account of the 
matter, but places the one battle a year before 
the other ; whereas it does not appear that Len- 
nox made two excursions into Nithsdale, at the 
head of the English forces, or fought two bloody 
battles with the laird of Dumlanrig on the same 
ground, as tiie historian would insinuate. He 
says, that Dumlanrig, after pursuing them cau- 
tiously for some time, was overthrown in attempt- 
ing to cross a ford of tlie river too rashly, that he 



250 NOTES TO THE 

lost two of his principal kinsmen, and 200 of hig 
followers, had several spears broken upon his 
body, and escaped only by the goodness of his 
horse. I'he battle which took place next night, 
he relates as having happened next year ; but it 
must be visible to every reader that he is speak- 
ing of the same incidents in the annals of both 
years. In the second engagement he acknowledges 
that Dumlanrig defeated the English horse, which 
he attrbutes to a desertion fi-om the latter, but 
that, after pursuing them as far as Daiswinton, 
they were joined by the foot, and retrieved the 
day. The account given of the battles, by Les- 
leus and Fran. Thin, seems to have been so dif- 
ferent, that they have misled the chronologer ; the 
names of the towns and villages appearing to hira 
so different, whereas a local knowledge of the 
countjy would have convinced him that both ac- 
counts related to the same engagements. 



Note XX. 
T/je Abbot M'Kinnon.—P. 190- 
To describe the astonishing scenes to which this 
romantick tale relates, Icolmkill and StafFa, so 
well known to the curious, would only be multi- 
plying pages to no purpose. 



QUEEN'S WAKE. 251 



Note XXI. 

O, wise rms the founder, and well said he, 
** Where there are women mischief must 6e/" 
P. 191. 

St. Columba placed the nuns in an island at a 
little distance from I, as the natives call lona. 
He would not suffer either a cow or a woman to 
set foot on it; "for where there are cows," said 
be, " there must be women ; and where there are 
women, there must be mischief." 



Note XXII. 
The Harp of Ettrick rung again. — P. 211. 

That some notable bard flourished in Ettrick 
Forest in that age, is evident from the numerous 
ballads and songs which relate to places in that 
country, and incidents that happened there. Ma- 
ny of tliese are of a very superiour cast, Outlartt 
Murray, Young Tarn Lean of Carterhaugh, Ja- 
mie Telfer i' the fair Dodhead, The dowy Downs 
qf YarroiVj and many others, are of the number. 
Dunbar, in his Lament for the Bards, merely men- 
lions him by the title of Etrick / more of him we 
know not. 



252 NOTES TO THE 



Note XXIII. 

Gardyn is crowned with garlands gay, 
And bears the envied prise away. — P. 211, 

Queen Mary's harp, of most curious workmas 
ship, was found in the house of Lude, on tlie banks 
of the Garry in Athol, as was the old Caledonian 
harp. They were both brought to that house by 
a bride, which the chieftain of Lude married from 
the family of Gardyn of Banchory (now Garden of 
Ti'oup.) It was defaced of all its ornaments, and, 
Queen Mary's portrait, set in gold and jewels, 
during the time of the last rebellion. How it • 
came into tlie possession of that family is not 
known, at least traditions vary considerably re- 
garding the incident. But there is every reason 
to suppose, that it was given in consequence of 
some musical excellency in one or other of the 
Gardynsj for it may scarcely be deemed, that the 
royal donor would confer so rich and so cui ions an 
instrument on one who could make no use of it. 
So far does the tale correspond with truth, and 
there is besides a farther coincidence of whicli I 
was not previously aware. I find, that Quer ;i 
Mary actually gave a grand treat at Holyio 
house at the very time specified in the Poi 
where great proficiency was displayed both, 
•fiusick and danciii?. 



1 



QUEEN'S WAKE. 253 



Note XXIV. 

Coomb— IS a Scots Lowland term, and used to 
distinguish all such hills as are scooped out on one 
side in form of a crescent. The bosom of the hill, 
or that portion which lies within the lunated 
verge, is always denominated the coomb. 



Note XXV. 

Sharv — is likewise a Lov.iand term, and denotes 
the snout, or brow of a hill ; but tlie part so de- 
nominated is always understood to be of a par- 
ticular form, broad at tlie base, and contracted to 
a point above. Each of these terms conveys to 
the mind a strong picture of the place so design- 
ed. Both are very common. 



Note XXVI. 

Laiv — signifies a detached hill of any descrip- 
tion, but more generally such as are of a round or 
conical form. It seems to bear the same accepta- 
tion in the Lowlands of Scotland, as Be7i does in 
the Highlands. The term is supposed to have 
had its derivation from the circumstance of the 
ancient inhabitants of the country distributing the 
laiv on the tops of such hills j and where no one 

2a 



254 NOTES TO THE 

of that form was nigh, artificial mounds wereraisei 
in the neigr.bourhood of towns for that purpose. 
Hence they were originally called Law-hills ; but, 
by a naturnl and easy contraction, the laws and 
the hills of the country came to signify the same 
thing. A little affinity may still be traced ; — 
both were effective in impeding the progress of an 
hostile invader ; while the hardy native sur- 
Biounted both without diflBculty, and without 
concern. 



Note XXVII. 

Glen—k a term common to every part of Scot- 
land alike, and invariably denotes the whole 
course of a mountain stream, with all the hills and 
vallies on each side to the first summit. It is an 
indefinite term, and describes no particular size, 
or local appearance of a river, or the scenery con- 
tiguous to it, farther than that it is one, and in- 
clined to be narrow and confined between the hills ; 
these glens being from one to thirty miles in 
length, and proportionably dissimilar in other 
respects. By a Glen, however, is generally to be 
understood a branch of a greater river. The 
course of the great river is denominated the 
Strath, as Strath-Tay, Strath-Spey, &c. ; and the 
lesser rivers which communicate with these are 
the Glens. There may be a few exceptions from 
this general rule, but they are of no avail asaf- 



aUEEN'S WAKE. 255 

fccting the acceptation of the term whenever it is 
ased as descriptive. 



Note XXVIII. 

Strone.—{Pn\y once used.)— ^ Strone ig that 
hill which terminates the rnnge. It is a High- 
land term, but common in the middle districts of 
Scotland. 



Note XXIX. 

Ben — is likewise a Highland term, and denotes 
a mountain of a pyramidal form, which stands un* 
connected with others. 



Note XXX. 

Dale — is tlie course of a Lowland river, with 
its adjacent hills and vallies. It conveys the 
same raeaping as Strath does in the Highlands. 



Note XXXI. 

Wale. — (only once used)— is a Hebridean term, 
and signifies the verge or brim of the mountain. 
It is supposed to be modern, and used only in 
those maritime districts, as having a reference to 
the gunnel, or wale, of a ship or boat. 



256 NOTES TO THE 



Note XXXII. 

Cory, or Correi — is a northern term, and is in- 
variably descriptive of a green hollow pai-t of the 
raountaio, from which a rivulet descends. 



Note XXXIII. 

If there is any other word or terra peculiar lo 
Scotland, I am not aware of it. The Songs of the 
two bards, indeed, who affect to imitate the an- 
cient manner, abound with old Scotch words and 
terms, which, it is presumed, the rythm, the 
tenour of the verse, and the narrative, will illus- 
trate, though they may not be found in any glos- 
sary of that language. These are, indeed, gene- 
rally so notoriously deficient and absurd, that it is 
painful for any one conversant in the genuine old 
provincial dialect to look into them. 

Ignorant, however, as I am of every dialect 
save ray mother tongue, I imagine that I under- 
stand so much of the English language as to per- 
ceive that its muscular strength consists in the 
energy of its primitive stem, — in the trunk from 
which all its foliage hath sprung, and around 
which its exuberant tendrils are all entwined and 
interwoven, — I mean the remains of the ancient 
Teutonick. On the strength of this conceived 
principle, which may haply be erroneous, I have 



QUEEN'S WAKE. 257 

laid it down as a maxim, that the greater number 
of these old words and terms that can be introdu- 
ced with propriety into our language, the better. 
To this my casual innovations must be attributed. 
The authority of Graharae and Scott has of late 
rendered a few of these old terms legitimate. If 
I had been as much master of the standard lan- 
guage as they, I would have introduced ten times 
more. 



WELLS & LILLY, 

(OF BOSTON,) 
WILL PUBLISH IN A FEW WEEKS, 

ANSTER FAIR, a Poem iu ssix 

cautos i with other Poems. By W. Tennant. 

A SERIES of POPULAR ES> 

SAYS, illustrative of principles essentially con- 
nected with the improvement of the understand- 
ing, the imagination, and the heart. By Eliza- 
beth Hamh.tojj, author of letters on the Ele- 
mentary Principles of Education, Cottagers of 
Glenburnie, &c. 

Accuse not Nature, she hath done her part : 
Do thou but thine, and be not diffident 
Of Wisdom ; she deserts thee not, if thou 
Dismiss not her. milton. 

The HISTORY of Mr. JOHN 
DEC ASTRO and hi. BROTHER BAT, com- 
monly called OLD CRAB, The Merry Matter 
written by John Mathers ; the Grave by a Solid 
Gentleman. In three volumes. 



\>. AND L. HAVE LATELY PUBLISHEDj 

Elegant Miniature Editions of 

The LORD of the ISLES, a Po- 
em. By Walter Scott, Esq. 

LARA, a Tale. JACQUELINE, 

a Tale. 

HUBERT and ELLEN; with 

other Poems. The Trial of the Harp, Billowy 
Water, the Plunderer's Grave, thefTear Drop, the 
Billow .^ By Lucius M. Sargent. Third edi- 
tion, with alterations. 



WELLS & LILLY, 

(boston,) 

HAVE LATEX.Y PUBLISHED, 

An ESSAY on the CHARAC- 
TER and PRACTICAL WRITINGS of St. 
PAUL. By Hannah More. 

Saint Paul hath furnished us with so rich a 
variety of moral and spiritual precepts, subordi- 
nate to the general laws of piety and virtue, that 
out of them might well be compiled a body of 
Ethick?, or system of precepts de officiis, in truth 
and completeness far excelling those which any 
philosophy hath been able to devise or deliver. 
Dr. Barrow. 

DISCIPLINE: a Novel. By the 

Atthor of " Self Control.'^ 

All-piiying Heaven, 
Severe in mercy, chastening in its love, 
Ofttimes in dark and awiul visitation 
llotn mterposc ; and leads tl;e wanderer back 
To the straight patlL JoaniNA Baillie. 

SERMONS, chiefly on PARTI- 
CULAR OCCASIONS. By Archibald Alli- 
son, LL. B. Prebendary of Sarum, &c. &c. 

*^* F or a high character of tiiese eloquent dis- 
courses, see Edinburgh Review for September, 
1814. 

SERMONS by the Rev. J. S. 

BucKMiNSTER, With a Memoir of his Life and 
Character, and Portrait. Second edition. 



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